


Tourist Season

by everythingmurky



Category: Broadchurch, NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Conspiracy, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 109,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingmurky/pseuds/everythingmurky
Summary: Hardy is trying to adjust to having his daughter and her bloody irritating cat live with him when strangers come to Broadchurch, ones that may or may not be key to uncovering a dangerous threat to the town's youth.





	1. Newcomers

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I thought I was kind of... broken and unable to come back to writing at all. It wasn't just that I thought maybe I had original fiction back (I didn't) or that I was not able to continue the other crossover I had (I'm not, much as I reread it a couple times hoping for something.) It was me being almost certain I was never going to be able to write again.
> 
> And then this weird idea came to me after reading some fics about an obscure doomed by canon pairing on another show and something spawned from that into this concept and I tried to write it. It was terrible in its first iterations, and I admit to some doubts about this one, but I still thought maybe it might be worth sharing.

* * *

“Go on then, find it.”

Hardy nudged the animal with his foot, grumbling when it flopped on its back, exposing its belly and looking for affection. He glared down at it. Did he look like his daughter? Daisy was the one to shower affection on the miserable thing, whereas he would just be glad if the damned creature would leave him a moment's peace.

“Daisy said she was packing it, but you started playing with it and she must have forgotten it,” Hardy reminded the cat. “I've gone over this place three times, and I don't see the bloody thing. You find it already.”

The cat sat up, blinking at him. He shook his head. Sometimes it almost seemed like the thing was intelligent and understood what he was saying, but other times, it was the most infuriatingly moronic thing in existence.

“Quit being so bloody useless. This is your mess, you fix it. Now, or I will find somewhere dark and cold to leave your irritating arse.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hardy turned around to see someone standing in the doorway to the hut, and he frowned, though now that he thought about it, he did remember leaving the door open. Shouldn't have, but then he hadn't wanted to be here long, and he'd just as soon the bloody cat run off on them, even if Daisy would be rather upset about it.

Then again, that didn't explain what the pretty boy standing in the doorway was all about, either. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, wearing a suit jacket with jeans of all things. Hardy had never understood that one. Either you wore the suit or you didn't, you didn't mix and match.

Who was this man? How long had he been standing there?

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” the other man said, frowning. He adjusted the bag on his arm, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I know you're not the owner, since I just came from his office, and I had rather thought I had this place to myself. He didn't mention any kind of... flatmate.”

Hardy grimaced. He should have been gone by now, though he'd been told there was still time before this place was let again—and that Daisy's bracelet wasn't here, though he was starting to wonder about the owner's honesty. 

“Don't live here. Not anymore. Did. Don't now.”

“Yet you still have a key?” The idea seemed to make the other man nervous, which was not entirely wrong. Hardy would not have been pleased to learn that, either. No, he would have been angry.

“Don't. Had to ask to be let in again,” Hardy told him. He wasn't being reassuring, though he didn't want his own office called on him. He saw the other man frowning at him and added. “My daughter. She lost something here when we were moving.”

“Oh,” the other man said, nodding a little as he said it. He did seem a bit reassured but not completely. “Well, I could—”

He broke off, sneezing rather loudly and repeatedly until Hardy was half-convinced he'd have to call someone for the guy as soon as he fell over. 

“The cat,” the other man said, reaching up to his watering blue eyes. “Is that... staying? I thought... no pets.”

“Oh, aye,” Hardy agreed, looking back at the offending blob of orange fur. That thing was why they had to move, that and Daisy's dislike for the small, cramped hut that he'd rented first when returning to Broadchurch. “No pets. This one... Bloody nuisance lost my daughter's bracelet. Special thing, charms she collected her whole life. Can't replace the damned thing.”

The explanation felt stupid, and if Hardy was honest, he knew that the whole thing was stupid. He should have made sure Daisy had everything even if he had to pack it himself. He should never have gotten her the bloody cat. And he should have found the damned bracelet by now. 

The other man backed away from the cat. “Um...”

The furry thing looked up, tilting its head in the way it did when something seemed to intrigue it, though with its tendency to be caught by inanimate objects and invisible insects, it wasn't that impressive.

Hardy cleared his throat. “Right. I'll be going.”

“Um, wait,” the other man began, starting to cough again. He grimaced. “Sorry, allergies. Not usually this bad. Um... Did you have... contact information?”

Hardy frowned. “What?”

“In case...” the other man moved further away from the cat. “In case I find the bracelet... while I'm here. Cleaning or something. I can let you know if I find anything. A picture or description might help, but it's not necessary.”

“If you find it, you'll know,” Hardy said, knowing it was a one-of-a-kind thing. He would rather find it himself, not wanting to leave it in someone else's hands, not when it mattered so much to Daisy, but he didn't want to stay here and look. Coming with the cat was an act of desperation that no one was supposed to witness.

“Then... you have a card or a number or—”

“Aye. Just bring it by the station.”

“The what?”

“Police,” Hardy said, not bothering to say more. He needed to leave, now. He turned to the cat. “Let's go, wee menace.”

The cat moved toward the other man instead, and Hardy shook his head. “Bloody nuisance. If you're coming, come, but I'm not chasing you. Not carrying you. I'll leave you here. Don't care what she says.”

The cat spun around, mewing at him as it followed him to the door. He ignored it, not about to make things worse by carrying it. The cat could walk on its own.

Hardy stopped to let it catch up to him outside the hut, and was both amused and annoyed to hear the locks shutting up tight behind them.

* * *

Daisy tried not to fidget in her chair. She didn't want to be here. She tried not to sigh as she took in her new classroom, her eyes drawn to someone else looking about as miserable as she felt. When the other girl caught her looking, Daisy turned away. She didn't want to be with her mum, either, not after their last row, but she still found it hard to believe that her father wanted to be here in Broadchurch. She shouldn't hate it so much, but she didn't know anyone, and she didn't have anything here besides her dad and her cat.

The cat her father hated and blamed for losing her charm bracelet.

She sighed. She'd feel a lot better about starting school again if she had it. She'd used it as a sort of comfort for years now, always playing with it when she got nervous. Her father had given her the first pieces of it, and she'd gotten more over the years as he disappointed her, letting work come first, some other case, some other family more important than theirs, but that somehow didn't ruin it.

His sheepish, blundering moments when he apologized and gave her something that had real meaning to her, things she didn't even think he knew about because he was always gone, that made each charm special.

_“I got you a new one,” her father said, and Daisy frowned, not sure what he was talking about. He and her mum had been fighting again, and she'd figured on him leaving, going back to work again, but he was standing in front of her, looking a bit like a drowned cat, and holding out a charm._

_She reached up and took it from his fingers, turning it over in her hand. A chicken. Why had he gotten her a chicken?_

_“You couldn't stop laughing at the restaurant. When I didn't want chicken,” he said, and she almost smiled. “That's it. That smile there. I miss it.”_

_“You'd see it more if you were ever home,” she told him, and he tensed, but then he gave her a stiff nod._

_“Aye, I would.”_

_He stepped close, giving her a kiss on top of her head, and then he went to the door. He stopped, looking back at her, and she gave him a smile as she started putting the charm on her bracelet._

She wouldn't have smiled if she'd realized that was him leaving while his heart was failing and she wouldn't see him again for months that time. She should hate him for that, but for all he was really shite with people, he always tried with her.

She sighed, looking down at her bare wrist. If she just hadn't taken it off when she was packing—it kept getting caught on stuff while she worked—she would have it now.

She heard a thump next to her. She looked over to see a bag on the floor next to the desk beside hers. The girl she'd seen earlier had sat down in it instead.

“You're new.”

“Yeah, so?”

The blonde studied her. “Were you staring because they told you all about me? Or because it was in the papers and stuff?”

Daisy felt a bit sick. “If you're talking about Sandbrook, that's not—”

“Sandbrook?”

She didn't get a chance to answer as the bell rang, drowning out everything for a few seconds. The others got loud again when it was over, as they were still the only ones in the room. She found the girl watching her again, and she wondered what she should say before the door opened again and a man hurried in.

He dropped a bag next to the table up front and forced a bit of a smile. “Would you believe I got lost? First day and all... Um... right. So... let's see who's here, then. Future classes I'll pass this around and let you sign yourselves in and out, but until I know faces and names, I'm afraid you're stuck with me calling them out.”

He pulled a crinkled paper out of his bag and looked at it. “And that will teach me to forget my glasses. Let's see... Ashley Boyd?”

The girl in the back held up her hand, and he stumbled down through the list, with snickers on some of the mispronounced names.

“Daisy Hardy?”

“Here,” she said, and the other girl frowned at her. Daisy studied her own hands, not wanting to look at anyone else.

“Chloe Latimer?”

“Here,” the other girl said, and Daisy did glance toward her again. She knew the name Latimer, had no choice but to know it, but she hadn't understood that this was that boy's sister. Would she hate Daisy because her dad investigated the case but her bother's killer got away anyway?

“All right,” the teacher said after he'd finished the list. “Now I have some sense of who you are, assuming no one lied about their names—”

“What's yours, then?” Chloe asked. “Or don't we get to know?”

He flushed red. “Oh. That. Knew I was going to forget that.”

* * *

“Mr. Kennedy?” Chloe asked, stopping at his desk as the other kids started to leave the classroom. She hated having to ask, knowing she didn't want to be here, not when she should have been done by now, would have been if her brother hadn't been murdered.

He looked up from his notes. “I did say there wasn't any homework, didn't I?”

She nodded, a bit tempted to laugh again. He'd gotten her to do that several times during his class, and she was surprised. Maybe it was because he was new and seemed to make more mistakes than a lot of others would, or maybe that was just an act so they'd like him. It had worked—she thought most of the kids in her class did actually like him, and he'd gotten that other girl—Daisy—smiling, too, and she'd looked a bit like her world had ended when she first came into the room.

“Okay, well, I admit, that was as much as I knew to guess might be why you'd want to talk to me on the first day, unless of course it's to make a comment on my teaching skills which admittedly seem a little lacking—”

“Um, no, I just... Well, I ended up a bit behind last year because of... stuff, and I just wanted to know if there was a way to... make sure that didn't happen again.”

He frowned, blinking blue eyes at her, and she thought somehow he didn't know about any of it. Nothing with Danny or her family or Joe Miller. “Did your last teacher refuse to let you make up the work you were missing?”

“Sort of,” Chloe admitted, though it wasn't just that. “I was out for part of the year before that, too, and I thought I'd gotten back up where I needed to be, but I guess the one passed me out of pity and the other... she didn't care so much.”

“I had heard that,” he said, and then he got red again. “Um, I didn't say that. Eh... Er... Well, I admit I don't have a lot prepared—no syllabus or anything printed I can give you just yet, but I'll get that to you as soon as I can so you know about where you should be, and if you have anything come up again, just let me know and we'll make arrangements to get you back where you should be.”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

“You know of anyone else you think will need a similar arrangement? Not that you all shouldn't feel free to ask for anything you need from me, but if there's anyone else in a similar situation, it would be good to—no, I'll just clarify it next class. Looks like I'm the one with homework tonight.”

He gave her a warm smile, and she smiled back, thinking it was way too unfair that he was cute, too, because he was twice her age and that would just be wrong, even if he was probably the prettiest bloke to come through Broadchurch in years.

“Right. See you tomorrow,” Chloe told him, hoping she hadn't embarrassed herself—though to compete with him during class would have been hard. She left the room and saw the ginger up ahead in the hall, looking a bit lost, which was something when the school wasn't that big.

“You're new, aren't you?” Chloe asked, joining her. She'd asked that before, had almost forgotten she had until just now, but there was no way to take it back now. The other girl nodded, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She didn't look like she wanted to be here, that was obvious, and while most kids Chloe knew felt that way, it was different with the new girl. She wasn't just miserable because it was school and everyone hated school.

“It's that obvious?”

“Broadchurch isn't that big,” Chloe said. It was actually really small in some ways. “You're Daisy Hardy. You're DI Hardy's daughter.”

“Aye,” Daisy said, and then she grimaced, like she hadn't meant to do that. “Sorry, yeah, he's my dad. And... I know he had your brother's case.”

“He did.”

“You probably hate him, then,” Daisy said, starting to walk away from her. Chloe frowned, jogging to catch up to the other girl. “I don't want any part of that.”

“People do that? Blame you when your dad's cases go bad?”

“I wasn't very popular after Sandbrook.”

Chloe grimaced. She'd heard and read more about that later, with that exclusive Olly had done about the other case. “Well, it's not your fault. Not even your dad's. He found who killed my brother. Was idiots in court that let him go.”

She still blamed the defense attorney—and her own dad. He'd done a lot to wreck things. She should be mad at Ellie, but she would have kicked Joe Miller herself if she could have. She was angry with a lot of people, but mostly she was mad at Joe Miller. He'd done it all, killed Danny and somehow gone free.

“I'm sorry. About your brother.”

Though that sort of comment irritated her half the time, Chloe chose to shrug it off. “I'm sorry about your dad.”

And Daisy laughed.

* * *

“He'll be a bit yet,” Ellie said, giving Daisy an apologetic smile. Hardy shouldn't be too busy, not in an office like this where they didn't have much in the way of crime, but that poor girl had already been here for an hour waiting for her father to finish up with their latest would-be drug king. “Had a bit of a problem with a local kid.”

Daisy shrugged. “I'm used to it. He's never home.”

Ellie tried not to wince. She supposed that was true, since she knew she'd barely been home, and Tom seemed to resent her for it some, same as her dad did.

“How'd you find school? You liking the new one?”

Daisy gave her a look for the question, and Ellie did wince. That was a bad thing to ask, she supposed, but where did she even start with a girl that was half-Hardy? Daisy could be just as terrible as her father, though Ellie hoped not.

She shrugged. “It was all right.”

“You make any friends yet?” Ellie asked. “I know it's hard when you're new—my boy, Tom, he just about threw a fit about changing schools, even if I thought it was best after what his dad did.”

Daisy nodded. “I thought I was gonna have a problem with Chloe Latimer, but we were all right. Helped that Mr. Kennedy kept flubbing up and distracting everyone. It was like he'd never taught a day before.”

“That bad?”

Daisy got a bit of a smile at that. “No, he was funny. And cute.”

“Cute?” Ellie thought about the teachers she knew and couldn't think of a one that merited the word cute. There'd been a dangerously handsome one a few years back, when Tom was just starting out, but he'd moved away to some university or other not long after he came, and back then, Ellie had been a happily married woman.

That had the girl blushing. “Well, Chloe thought so, at least. She said that to me later, when we had lunch. I thought it was nice, you know, having a teacher that was just as nervous about being there as we were, even if we weren't admitting it. He was, and he was good at what he was teaching when he got into it, someone who actually cared about it.”

“That's good.” Ellie leaned against the desk. “Not sure I've met this teacher. Don't remember a Kennedy before, but then my boys are younger than you and Chloe.”

“I think he might be new. Not just because he was so nervous, but Chloe said she'd never seen him about, and she would have remembered him.”

“That cute, is he?”

Daisy frowned, and Ellie figured this would be something to use with Hardy later, his daughter's possible crush on her teacher. “I don't know. Maybe. He was younger than a lot of my other teachers have been, the men, at least. They all seem to be old and grumpier than Dad.”

“Is that even possible?”

Daisy laughed, and of course, that was just when Hardy walked back into the room, cursing up a blue storm.

* * *

Walking back into the blue hut at the end of a long day, he shut the door behind him, checking the locks again and closing the curtains, shutting everything else out. He sneezed and grumbled to himself, thinking he needed something more than an ordinary vacuum to get that cat's hair out of here. He didn't understand that, had never reacted that badly to an animal before, but now he swore this hut would be the death of him thanks to its former resident.

He shook his head and went to the desk, wincing at the broken lock. This place wasn't safe or secure, and he knew better than to leave any information anywhere that it could be accessed remotely. His phone, his computer, all of that couldn't be trusted.

He shook his head, starting his list. He already had at least two names, two possibilities, both of them vulnerable.

_Chloe Latimer. Daisy Hardy._


	2. Dreams and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost everyone is unsettled for some reason or other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here is where me being not British shows itself more than ever. I have no experience with the school system to draw on, and while I tried to research it some, I'm betting I'm wrong about how I showed it and what I have, so if it is very bad and wrong and doesn't fit, I should probably be told so I can fix it.
> 
> Also, I realized there is a lot of set up to get to the actual case starting, but it is coming. I swear it is. Everything will hopefully make sense then.

* * *

_Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Please let me go._

He jerked awake with a shudder, backing into the headboard and trembling. He'd thought that dream was long gone, though he knew better. He might not have remembered it, just woke with the same fear and trembling but no actual memory of the dream itself, but that didn't mean he thought it was anything else. He'd known that nightmare was back. He closed his eyes, lowering his head.

He would be fine. This would pass. He could still do this.

He tried to ignore the nagging voice inside him that said he wasn't good for anything and laid back down, knowing he had to at least try to sleep again.

* * *

_He almost lost her._

_He was drowning. He couldn't get up out of the water._

Hardy choked, coughing and rolling over. He forced himself to calm down, going through his breathing exercises. He needed to get his heart back under control, pacemaker or no pacemaker. He hated that bloody dream. He'd thought it might stop once he found Pippa's killer, but it had not. He still found himself thinking he would lose Daisy.

He swore under his breath, forcing himself up and out of bed. He made his way to the kitchen, needing some tea to wash that taste out of his mouth and start to feel alive again.

He picked up the kettle and started filling it with water. He put it on the stove and turned on the burner, leaning back against the counter. Something touched his leg, and he almost yelped, kicking out at the thing that had brushed against him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, looking at Daisy's cat again. “Why you?”

The cat tilted its head and looked up at him, starting to purr. He shook his head, once again regretting his decision to let her have the cat, even if it was part of why she was with him now.

“You were supposed to find the bracelet, remember? That mattered to her. Mattered to me. Means a whole hell of a lot more than you do, useless thing, and you should have found it so she didn't have to go without it.”

The cat just sat there, purring. Hardy shook his head, going back to his tea. He took a cup from the cupboard and set it on the counter before reaching for the tea bags.

Something bumped his leg again, and he swore. “What the hell is wrong with you? Leave me in peace, you damned nuisance.”

The cat continued to purr, rubbing up against him like he wanted him there, and Hardy almost kicked it away from him when he heard someone else entering the room. Daisy rubbed her eyes, half asleep still, hair all over the place and her nightgown—try shirt—way too short.

“Dad?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why are you yelling at the cat this early in the morning?”

He sighed. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Did you have another nightmare?” Daisy asked, going around him to grab her own mug. She took it to the other counter, setting it in place and getting one of the other flavors of tea down to put in it. He watched her, not sure how to respond. “Dad, come on. I've heard you. I know you have them almost every night. Sometimes you even call my name.”

He grimaced. “Cop. Always very aware of how I could end up losing you.”

She nodded, not looking at him. The cat went over to her side, rubbing up against her legs. She smiled down at it and then bent to pick it up, snuggling it in her arms to its contented and smug purrs. He knew the damned thing made her happy, but he still hated it.

“You are such a sweetheart,” Daisy told the ball of fluff. “Were you trying to make Dad feel better after his nightmare? I know you always do with me.”

Hardy grunted. “It was just being nosy, as usual. Cat has no idea I had a nightmare.”

Daisy gave him a look. “You woke the whole house. I think he knows. Don't you, Detective Sergeant?”

“Don't call him that.”

She smiled, clearly refusing to listen. “I'd say he's the most loyal DS you've ever had, but then you've got Ellie, and that's something else entirely.”

“Excuse me?”

Daisy set the cat down and went for her tea. “I've got to get ready for school. I'll see you later, if you ever make it home after work.”

* * *

“And so one of the things we will be looking at during our course is the impact of the internet and social media on how we communicate. Not just what we say but how we say it, how language has changed since it's introduction,” Kennedy said. “And you can all look up from your phones now and nod to pretend you were listening.”

Daisy smiled, and next to her, Chloe snickered. Mr. Kennedy was funny, both when he meant to be and when he didn't, and it was not hard to enjoy his class. She would rather take his over any others, and she was tempted to move her focus on her A levels just so she could have him for more classes.

“You are, of course, already illustrating my point. How many of us on any given day are more involved in what we're doing on our phone than the people in the same room with us? Do we go out with friends and yet spend all our time on our phones talking to people who aren't there?” Kennedy asked. He stopped in front of his desk, leaning against it. “Let me ask you this question. If I were to ban all mobile phones from the classroom, how many of you would drop my class today?”

“All of us,” one of the boys in the back said, getting some agreement from the other kids.

“Not all of us,” Chloe said, and that made Daisy wonder if it was more than Kennedy being cute that had her saying that. “It's just a mobile.”

“You say that because you can't have a smartphone,” one of the other girls said, giving Chloe a look. “After what happened with your brother.”

Chloe looked a bit sick. “That's not—”

“It's not about smartphones,” Daisy said. “I mean, yeah, I like my mobile, and my dad would probably lose it if he knew I was wandering around without it for any long period of time, but I'd rather have an interesting class than a boring one, and if the class was interesting enough, I wouldn't need my mobile because I wouldn't be bored. And I don't think any of us is bored now.”

“I think I'll consider that high praise,” Mr. Kennedy said. “My class isn't boring. Good. That's a step in the right direction.”

“Are you going to ban mobiles?” another girl asked. Daisy thought she remembered this one's name, though. Anna. She was pretty sure it was Anna.

“Not unless I have to,” Kennedy told them. “It would be a bit silly—maybe a little daft—to ban something at the core of our discussion, at least for this first part of the course. I think we can allow them as long as they don't become too much of a distraction.”

“Is this even a real course?” A boy Daisy didn't know asked. “Because my brother took his A levels last year, and this isn't anything like what he took.”

“Take out your syllabus, please,” Kennedy said. “What does that course title at the top say?”

“Um... communications.”

“Does that answer your question?” Kennedy asked with a bit of a smile. “If not, I think you may need to consult a dictionary and perhaps reassess your own choice of course.”

“English is supposed to be all about writing papers and reading books and sh—”

“Language,” Kennedy warned. “That part of the syllabus is very clear, and it applies to every course offered. Keep reading that same page. Note that you do have several papers you will write during this class. You will also have tests. And there are books to read. I have made an effort to make my class relevant to your times and not just about literary classics no one wants to read or papers no one wants to write. You have to understand that communication is not just about what you hear or say, not just about what you write or how you write it, or even what you read and take in. Those are all parts of it, but not all of them work alone. A paper is not worth writing without a subject, and a book is not worth reading unless you get something from it. Does that mean that unless it has a deep, complex allegorical meaning it shouldn't be read? No. There's value in the relaxation or other enjoyment it offers, but you are still engaging in communication as you read it, listening to the dialogue the writer has given you. It's a one way conversation, but it's still a conversation.”

He started to say something else, but the bell rang. He winced. “All right, you can go, but as you go through the rest of your day, take note of all your conversations. Instant messages, anything you read, who you talk to through the day. We'll discuss the reasons why tomorrow.”

Daisy grabbed her bag, thinking she just might enjoy this class a lot.

* * *

Chloe walked out into the hall with Daisy, curious about what the other girl had thought of class today and what they were going to be studying. Kennedy's approach to the class was different from the one she'd taken and failed out of the year before, and she was liking him more and more. He was less nervous than yesterday, but he still managed to be funny and know a lot about what he was teaching.

He was good enough she was almost tempted to change her A level focus, and she hadn't thought she'd want that before, not for English or anything with it, not that she was much better at maths or anything. She'd just gone general for it, and she kind of regretted it now.

“Thanks.”

Daisy looked over at her. “What?”

“For... you know... saying it wasn't about phones. My parents didn't ever threaten to take away mine just because of what happened to Danny, but that's one of the things everyone assumes because Danny getting that other mobile was... part of him ending up dead.”

“Well, my dad would almost say mobiles don't belong in a classroom at all, but then he's also a cop and gets paranoid if I don't have mine even if he barely uses his, so it's a bit weird. I don't really need the phone, and I wouldn't in this class. It's not at all boring.”

“No, that's for sure,” Chloe said. “Makes me want to switch my A levels.”

“Me, too.”

They smiled at each other, and then a loud bang had them both turning to see a couple boys going at it against the lockers. Chloe winced when she realized one of them was Tom Miller. Though he and Danny weren't friends at the end, she always remembered him as her brother's best friend, and it was hard to see him like that.

Others started gathering around as the two boys continued to hit each other, both of them trying to get the other back into the lockers. She didn't know the name of the other boy—he hadn't been a friend to her brother or one Danny had mentioned and could even be new or something.

“Whoa,” Mr. Kennedy said, rushing out of his classroom and over to separate the two boys. He got in between them and used his body to block them from continuing the fight. “What is going on here?”

“None of your business,” the other boy said. Chloe thought he was older than Tom, maybe by a year or so.

“When I have to come out of my classroom to break up a fight, it's my concern,” Kennedy told him, looking back and forth at the two boys. “Someone had better start talking. Fast.”

Tom just glared at him, saying nothing. The other boy leaned around Kennedy to taunt Tom.

“You want to do this with trips to the office and calls to parents?” Kennedy asked. “Fine. Start walking.”

“Charlie attacked Tom,” one of the other kids in the hall said.

“That so?” Kennedy asked, and Tom shrugged. Charlie got smug.

“What of it? His father's a pedophile murderer.”

Chloe winced. Why did it always have to be about that? She missed her brother, she did, but why did everything have to be about Danny's death or Joe Miller? Her father couldn't let it go, and her mother was struggling, too, though she hid it better with her new job and helping people in Danny's name. And Chloe... she still wasn't the same, and losing Dean when they broke up hadn't helped any.

Kennedy frowned. “You attacked him because of what his father did?”

“He's a pedophile and a killer. You think we should ignore that?”

“I didn't say you should ignore what his father did, but that's what his father did. It's not what he did,” Kennedy said. “What does your father do for a living?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Construction.”

Kennedy nodded. “Okay, so then... think of it this way. Your father builds a building. A house. And something goes wrong. Maybe it's his fault. Maybe it's bad materials. It doesn't matter. Either way, the floor falls out from the upper story. People die. Your father gets blamed. Is it right for someone to take that out on you?”

Charlie looked at him. “Are you stupid? Of course not.”

“Then why is it right for you to attack Tom?” Kennedy countered, and Charlie couldn't say anything to that. He pulled himself free of Kennedy's hold and started to walk away. Chloe was relieved to see it over, glad Kennedy could stop it without it getting any worse.

Tom didn't thank him or anything, just stepped around him. Chloe shook her head, and they were all moving away when Tom lunged for Charlie again.

“That's it,” Kennedy said. “Office. Now.”

* * *

“Bloody hell.”

“Watch the road, Miller. Don't get us killed,” Hardy grumbled from the passenger seat, and she rolled her eyes without looking at him. Would he react any better to having the school call about Daisy? Not that she seemed likely to get in any fights but still, it wasn't like he'd be calm after getting that call.

“I am watching the bloody road,” she snapped. “Damn it. Why now? I thought we were finally getting past this.”

“New school year. New kids. New problems.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” she muttered, not sure why Hardy had even bothered responding to her statement. She sighed. “Do you want me to drop you off first before I go deal with this?”

Hardy gave her a look. “Just drive, Miller.”

She shook her head as she turned toward the school. She supposed he might choose to surprise Daisy while they were there, or maybe he just didn't care because they weren't in the middle of any major cases. Their drug one had ended yesterday with the arrest he made, and now he was bored and grumpier than usual.

She didn't know how long he'd last without a major case to obsess over as he had Danny Latimer or Sandbrook, but right now she couldn't worry about that. She had to get to Tom and find out why he was fighting in school again.

Not that she didn't have a pretty good idea already. It was Joe. It had to be Joe.

She drove into the lot, parking up close to the school. “You going to see Daisy?”

Hardy gave her another look. “Go away, Miller.”

“I just want to know because I won't lock the doors if you're in, but I will if you're getting out,” she said. “Knob.”

He grunted, turning back to the window. She didn't bother with him after that, grabbing her bag and going in to find her son. She walked up to the front office, and then she saw Tom sitting on the chairs next to the wall. A man she'd never seen before was with him, looking very uncomfortable.

“Tom?” she asked as she got close.

“Mom,” he said with a wince. “I thought—they said—”

“You thought they'd call your grandfather and I'd never know about this?” Ellie demanded, shaking her head. “It doesn't work that way. I'm your mother. I get the call. And I did not want to get this call again.”

Tom grunted. “He started it.”

“Yes,” the man beside him agreed, “but you were the one that didn't let it finish when I had stopped it.”

“He'd just have done it again tomorrow if I hadn't. That's how Charlie is.”

“And that would be why Charlie is in with the principal while you and I are having this quality time,” the man told him. Tom frowned at him. He ignored it and turned back to Ellie. “Or so I'm told. I had thought we'd ended it with me pointing out the fallacy in Charlie's logic and proving that Tom wasn't responsible for his father's actions if Charlie wasn't liable for those of his father.”

Ellie was almost amused. “You talk a bit like a solicitor.”

“Um... Well, I have a particular talent for semantics that led to my current occupation,” he said, looking a little red. “I teach English, I mean.”

She knew, then, that this was the same Kennedy that Daisy had mentioned. He had to be. The awkwardness, the knowledge of his subject in a weird but entertaining way, and even the bit about him being cute. He was. He was a bit younger, or at least he looked it, and that was somewhat dangerous with those girls admiring him as much as they did.

“So you don't have any actual authority when it comes to determining what kind of punishment Tom would have for this, do you?” Ellie asked, not wanting to bring up the whole teenagers with a crush thing right now. She needed Tom to understand he was in trouble, not make jokes. She wouldn't be so mad if he'd let it go, but he'd started it up again, and that wasn't acceptable. Fighting wasn't the answer. It made things worse. It made people think he was the same as his dad, even if he wasn't.

“Afraid not. It probably could have been ended with a warning had someone not gone after the other boy when I'd intervened, but as that happened, I felt it more was necessary.”

“I agree,” Ellie told him. Tom looked at him. “How many times have I told you fighting wasn't the answer? How many? People see your father as a monster, and that isn't going to change. The only part you can change is if you get seen like him, too. Fighting makes you like him.”

“That's not what he did.”

Ellie sighed. Tom might not have heard that part of the trial, but she had. She'd wondered where that man had been during her marriage and if she would have suspected Joe sooner if she'd ever seen it. “Tom, it is not that simple. People have a lot of ideas about what your father did, and his fighting with people was brought up at the trial. While you know and I know and even your teacher here knows that you are not him and what you do is not what he did, other people don't see it that way. You have to be better than he was. You have to be.”

Tom shook his head. “This isn't fair.”

“Life isn't fair,” Ellie reminded him. Nothing since Danny died could come under fair, and even before then it wasn't. They just weren't as aware of it then. “The school could still suspend you. This is serious. What are we going to do if they suspend you? Christ, Tom, it's the first week of school.”

She saw the teacher starting to fidget. He looked uncomfortable, not that she blamed him. This sort of thing wasn't something she liked doing in public, but what else was she supposed to do? Ignore what her son had done? “We'll finish this conversation later. I need to see what the school thinks has to be done about this.”

“Fine,” Tom muttered, leaning against the wall, and Ellie swore under her breath as she went to try and find the principal.

* * *

He came back to the hut that night with another name to add to the list. _Tom Miller._


	3. Meetings and Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some arrive, some search for purpose, and others share too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so sure I knew what was going in this chapter and why, and while yes, I managed to include part of the crossover elements that will build the rest of the case, this ended up more set up than I wanted it to be. It both was and wasn't fitting to finish where it did, which is annoying because it lets in more doubt than usual.
> 
> Still, I think I've gotten most of the pieces in place and the case can really pick up soon, which should be good.
> 
> And, of course, lots and lots more explanation is coming later, once the case gets going.

* * *

He woke with the dream again, curled up in a corner and trying to shut out the memories.

He couldn't do this. He had to, owed it to all of them, but he couldn't.

He closed his eyes and let the rest of the night pass, not bothering to attempt sleep again.

* * *

“That's it, Nicholas. Easy now,” Ducky said, trying to ease the other man out of the vehicle. The drive had been long, and he knew everyone was against him making it, even more against his brother doing so, but he had a long list of promises to keep when it came to Nicholas and not much time to do it. They already said Nicholas' mind was gone, though he did seem to remember Ducky on the good days, and with that mental deterioration came a lot of other symptoms that were leading Nicholas quickly toward the grave.

Ducky had thought him already there, but now that he knew differently, he knew what he had to do, and while few saw the value in his actions or any sense in them at all, he knew what he had to do for Nicholas while there was still time.

He still regretted how his mother spent her final days, and he refused to allow that to happen again. No, he would let Nicholas have so much more than that while they were both capable of it.

“I know it's been a long time,” Ducky told him as he settled Nicholas in the wheelchair, “but we had talked about this before. I promised you a trip to the English seashore, remember?”

Nicholas nodded, though whether he really did remember or not was debatable. Ducky gave him an encouraging smile anyway, pushing the chair forward. He knew that it was not the same as walking along the beach or building castles, all the things that he'd spoken of when they'd discussed this holiday all those years ago.

Funny how the years slipped away and all of that got lost in the shuffle of years.

“Morning,” a young woman in a bright orange coat called out to him, and he smiled to acknowledge her greeting. “Bit nippy out this morning. Watch yourself down by the shore. We had a few calls about strong waves and debris.”

“Debris?”

She nodded. “Looks like a boat may have run into some trouble out there. We're still trying to find out what happened.”

“Miller,” a sharp, annoyed Scottish voice barked. “Boat. Now.”

She forced a smile. “If you'll excuse me, I have to go babysit a Scot who hates the water.”

“By all means,” Ducky told her, amused. He let her walk away before turning back to Nicholas. “You know, she is very right about the weather. I wonder if we should postpone this visit until later or at least get you a blanket.”

Nicholas didn't respond, but Ducky was getting used to that, unfortunately. While he was blessed in some ways by having his brother alive after all those years believing him dead, he could not help his frustration at Nicholas' current state.

“Let's start with the blanket,” Ducky said, turning them back to the rental. He didn't need to make his brother's condition worse, though a part of him did regret not taking Palmer or Abby up on their offers to accompany him.

He had wanted to do this alone, as he'd promised, but he might need help, and now it felt a bit wrong to have excluded the rest of the “family” he had acquired. This was not just about Nicholas, and he should have known that before he set out on this journey.

He supposed he could always see if their offers were still on the table, though for now, he'd just take the time he'd been given with his brother and enjoy it as much as possible.

* * *

“This isn't our bloody job.”

“Morning to you, too, sir,” Ellie muttered, shaking her head again. She should have known this call would set Hardy off, though he would be stubborn about it and insist on doing as much as possible even when he was fighting off flashbacks of dragging Pippa from the river. And Ellie happened to know that Hardy was still having nightmares about that, since Daisy had let something slip at the station the other day when she came by to tell her father she was going to Chloe's after school.

Those two were thick as thieves it seemed, and Ellie was glad. They both smiled more, acted happier, and while Hardy grumbled some, Beth at least was glad her daughter had made a good friend again. Ellie wished she could say Tom was doing as well, but since he ended up suspended for that fight, he'd been even more sullen and withdrawn than usual.  
If Lucy or Olly were still about, Ellie felt sure her son would have run off to be with one of them and refused to come home again.

She cleared her throat, trying to focus. “Anything that happens on the water could have ties to our office. We both know it's happened before, with my brother-in-law's boat burning. And the drugs have to come from somewhere. Why not the water?”

Hardy grunted. “Bits of wood that could have come from anywhere? Not bloody likely. Just shows how bored the whole office is, wasting time on this.”

“Would you rather be rescuing cats from trees?”

He snorted. “I'd leave the useless things where they are. And I'd put that thing of Daisy's up with them.”

“Oh, please,” Ellie muttered. “You're not about to harm the cat she loves, since you'd give her just about anything, and I've heard you talk to the cat myself. You treat it more like a person than you do me sometimes.”

He frowned at her, but she wasn't about to correct her statement. Hardy did talk to the cat, and he did treat it better than her half the time.

She reached over to pick up one of the wood pieces that had come up against the shore earlier. “There's paint on this.”

“So?”

She shook her head. “Don't give me that. You know that if this was just the routine stuff that gets caught in the surf it wouldn't be painted. And it would not have lettering on it.”

He grunted. “It could be a boat. It could be a crate. There is no way of proving it is anything from that little piece.”

“Which is why we're going to see if we spot more,” she said, feeling a bit more chipper than she should about the whole thing. “Or... maybe it's just me that's going.”

“Oh, aye,” Hardy grumbled. “You waste your time on this. I have things to do at the station.”

“What, the paperwork you actually caught up yesterday?” Ellie countered. He'd delayed doing his write up of the drug lord for a few days, but he'd had nothing else to do but finish it, and she knew he had. They were all up to date until the next crisis, which still seemed far off, a bit of a relief to her mind. She had to figure out something to do about Tom.

“What do you want from me, Miller?”

“Maybe I want you to admit that this isn't about how valid a case this is but really your dislike of the water,” she said, and he glared at her. She shouldn't be surprised, she supposed, but she didn't need him taking that out on her. Again.

“It's wood,” Hardy said. “Even with paint, there's no guaranteeing its anything, and even if it is, who says it's a crime? That is what we do, in case you've forgotten. We investigate crime.”

She sighed. “Why are you even here?”

“Excuse me?”

“If this isn't enough of an investigation for you, why did you come back? You know that not every case is like Danny's. This town doesn't have the kind of crime you're used to, and we don't want it to, so you either have to accept that or find somewhere else to live. Or is it just that no one else will take you with your heart condition?”

“It's not a condition.”

“Bloody hell. I will smack you. I will—”

“Piss in a cup and throw it at me, I remember,” Hardy said. He reached for the wood and turned it over in his hands. “You know any boats this color?”

* * *

“Did you talk to your dad about changing your focus yet?” Chloe asked as she and Daisy walked toward class. She was looking forward to what Mr. Kennedy might have for them today, since his class always had something interesting going on, even if that was only because he was having one of his flub days, though most of the time he had something interesting for them to do.

“Not yet,” Daisy admitted, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Dad's been super grumpy lately, and I'm not sure he'd agree.”

“My mum agreed to it. She said it was nice to see me enjoying school for a change,” Chloe admitted. Her mum hadn't asked too much about Mr. Kennedy, but then Chloe hadn't admitted that part of the reason she liked his class was that he was cute. It wasn't just about that, but having a teacher that was nice to look at didn't hurt none.

Daisy grimaced. “All I've been able to get from my dad lately is grumbling about my cat.”

Chloe frowned. “Is he still mad about the bracelet?”

Daisy nodded. “He is, and it's worse since the landlord let the hut to someone else so he can't go back and look again. I'm still mad at myself for forgetting it, but I think I've accepted that it's just gone now. Not him. He keeps thinking he'll find it somehow or something.”

“Didn't you say he was the one who ended up getting most of the charms for you?” Chloe asked, and Daisy gave her another nod. “So it probably matters a lot to him, too, even if he's never said it or anything. Dad was pretty messed up over all the things he used to do with Danny after he died. Every little thing... it reminds us of him, but it kind of... breaks us, too.”

Daisy sighed. “I wish I hadn't lost it. I took it off to pack, and DS was playing with it, but I swore I picked it up and packed it, but when I got to the new place, it wasn't there. I've unpacked everything, checked the car, and Dad went back over the hut... It's like it just... vanished.”

Chloe winced in sympathy. She wanted to help somehow if she could, but it wasn't like they could replace the charm bracelet, just like no one could replace her brother. She didn't say anything else as she walked into the classroom, taking her spot up front. Daisy sat next to her, and the other kids filled in their chairs after the bell rang.

Mr. Kennedy came in just afterward, grimacing as he did. He set his bag next to the desk and grabbed the attendance sheet, handing it to Daisy to start.

“Late again, Mr. K? Isn't that supposed to be our job?” one of the boys in the back teased. Chloe rolled her eyes. Keith Moon was such an idiot sometimes.

“Actual, it's not a job either of us should have,” Kennedy told him. He took his spot in front of his desk, leaning against it. “I am going to make a change to the syllabus today. I think this has a bit more relevance for us all right now, and I would like to talk about miscommunication today.”

“Is that even a word?”

“According to the Oxford dictionary, yes,” Kennedy answered. He gave his heckler a bit of a smile. “Feel free to look it up on your phone if you like. While you're at it, look up the inevitable pop reference that comes with it.”

“What?”

Chloe frowned. She didn't think she knew what he was talking about, either, and she usually followed Mr. Kennedy better than this.

“'What we have here is a failure to communicate,'” Kennedy quoted, and Chloe did think she'd heard that before somewhere, but she had no idea where. “It's a very popular quote, though I always end up picturing an impression I saw of the scene once, and I think it led to an unrealistic expectation of what that part of the actual film was like. That, of course, just ties into the theme today. Miscommunication. Sometimes its our perception that is the problem. Sometimes it is the other person's. Sometimes it's a language or cultural barrier. Sometimes it is a complex subject or one that is difficult to grasp without personal experience. Or it's everyone's favorite—the person who just won't listen and hears what they want to hear, not what you actually said.”

Chloe wasn't the only one who smiled a bit at those words. She knew a few people like that, and they all drove her barmy.

“Effective communication requires that we are able to express our ideas clearly, that our audience can understand them and relate to them, sometimes apply them in certain cases,” Kennedy went on. “And sometimes a part of understanding how to communicate is looking back at where communication went completely wrong and learning from it.”

“Is that what you do?” Keith went on, still doing his idiot routine.

“I suppose I could counter by asking you how much of my nervous flubbing is actually genuine and what parts may be contrived to put you all at ease, even if that means humor at my own expense,” Kennedy said, folding his hands together and giving the boy a pointed look. “Ah, now I have you wondering, and from now on, you'll question every little mistake I made and if I did it on purpose or not. I think I will enjoy letting you do that. Probably not as much as I will enjoy reading your paper on miscommunication, though.”

A collective groan went through the class. Kennedy hadn't assigned them a big paper yet, just short paragraphs, but he did seem to do that a lot.

“I want all of you to take a look back at a miscommunication that had a particular impact on your life or someone else close to you. What happened, how did it affect you, and what has changed since it happened,” Kennedy said. “I realize this can be a difficult topic to address, but I—”

“Difficult?” Chloe asked, thinking with a sick bit in her stomach about the whole Jack Marshall thing and still not sure that Dean had been right about what Jack had done.

“It's too personal,” Daisy said, squirming a bit in her own chair. “I don't want to share that sort of thing.”

“Me, either,” Chloe agreed. “Not that I have much privacy anyway, but I don't want to talk about that sort of thing.”

“Okay, first, this is not an assignment you will be reading to the class. That's not the point of this assignment. Humiliation is not its goal. Learning from the experience is, and it is your choice which incident you share. Maybe you were five years old and you lost your best friend because one of you said something stupid. Maybe you were in line at a coffee shop, ordered the wrong thing or they got it wrong and you never went back even though it was your favorite place before. I want you to think about a way it changed you, yes. Am I forcing you to share deeply personal details? No.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keith asked. “What would you talk about if it was you writing it?”

Kennedy took a deep breath and let it out again. He twisted his hands together, looking a bit upset. Finally he nodded. “I chose today's topic because this... this should have been my wedding anniversary.”

The whole class got quiet.

“Did she... die?” one of the girls asked, looking all sad like she had any idea, and Chloe wanted to say something because she didn't get it at all, and the false sympathy never helped.

“My wife—ex-wife—is alive and well and apparently better off without me,” Kennedy said. He lowered his head. “When we met, it seemed like we could talk about anything and everything. Hours and hours of just... us. Our own little world. Everything was perfect.”

Chloe heard the pain in his voice. It was like her mum and dad about anything before they lost Danny. She swallowed, almost wanting Kennedy to stop before he said anything else that would hurt, but she was also curious.

“We met at work,” Kennedy said, “and I don't know that we ever understood just how much of what brought us together and kept us that way was tied up in our work. When she changed jobs, I couldn't talk to her about my work any longer. We started keeping things from each other. It wasn't just her or just me, and we both knew there was a problem. We tried to fix things, but there was one night where... where it all went very wrong, and we never came back from that. She admitted something to me that made me think I might never have loved the person she was but some dream of who she was and I had no idea who I was married to anymore. And she seemed to resent me, the things I held back, the ones I couldn't tell her... Eventually it got so bad that she believed I'd done something I wasn't capable of doing, and... and I let her.”

Kennedy pushed away from his desk and circled back around it. “And there you have it. A case of miscommunication that changed everything.”

Everyone was quiet for a bit. Chloe didn't think anyone knew what to say, though maybe it was like he'd told Keith and he'd made it up? No, she didn't think so. Not that much pain. What he'd told them was true.

“Now, I don't expect to see a dozen papers on failed marriages, and I'd be a bit shocked if I did, given your ages,” Kennedy said, his tone a bit forced even though it was lighter, “but I think we can all find a moment where miscommunication has affected us and write about it.”

“Is this due next class?”

He shook his head. “I think this is more than a one paragraph exercise, so you get longer to do it. Beginning of next week. That sounds good.”

“Do you still love her?”

Daisy was staring at her, and Chloe didn't know how those words had come out of her mouth, but somehow, she'd said them.

He didn't look at any of them. “Yes.”


	4. Classics and Conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes get changed, fights happen, and things are hinted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been very insane of late, so I was thinking this wouldn't get done any time soon. Instead, I couldn't sleep, so I got it done. I didn't get everyone in this chapter, but they'll have a turn next one, i do believe.

* * *

_  
You're mine. Remember that. You will always be mine._

He shuddered, leaning over the sink and splashing water on his face, trying to forget that voice and all that came with it. That was the past. It was over. It couldn't hurt him now, and he had to remember that.

He had to finish this.

* * *

“I need you to sign this for me,” Daisy said, putting a paper in front of Hardy. He looked down at it, frowning. It had been a long time since he'd had papers to sign for Daisy's classes, and he had a moment of nostalgia there before the suspicion won out, and he studied her, trying to decide what she might be after—not that he thought she would try and sneak her way on a school trip her mother had denied her again, not now.

She'd just go on her own, so it couldn't be that. He supposed it could be poor marks, but wasn't it too soon for failing grades?

“What is this?”

“A form,” Daisy told him. He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “I want to change my focus.”

Hardy tensed. “What?”

“For A levels, Dad. It's not—I didn't know what I wanted before, but now I do, so will you sign that so I can change courses? It's still early enough that they'll let me and I won't be behind or anything. It'll be good.”

“Change your focus,” Hardy repeated, not sure he understood. “To what?”

“English.”

“English?”

She sighed. “Could you sound any more Scottish when you say that? It's not the end of the world if I want to take courses in English. You know it's always been more my thing than maths or science. Chloe's already done it, her mum let her do it the other day, and so I'd have more classes with her—”

“You want to change your classes because of Chloe Latimer?”

Daisy frowned. “You have a problem with her being my friend now? Since when?”

He grimaced. He thought about the whole boyfriend thing and the cocaine thing that had come up during his investigation. He could have put a stop to the whole thing because of that, but Daisy had seemed happier, and the boyfriend was gone, so that seemed like it shouldn't be a problem again.

“Daize—”

“It's not about Chloe. Yeah, it's nice to have classes with actual friends over strangers, but it's not about that. It's about me finding something I like in school. We have this teacher, he's good, and he always makes class interesting, whether he's getting so nervous like you he makes funny flubs or if he's putting that troll Keith Moon in his place—”

“The drummer?”

“What?” Daisy shook her head. “No, I don't think he's in a band. He's just a troll.”

“Keith Moon, drummer from the Who, is a troll?” Hardy asked, rubbing at his head and trying to understand what the bloody hell was happening here, though the frustration almost had him saying forget it and she wasn't changing any kind of focus.

“The Who?”

“It's a band. God, what do they teach you in school?”

“Well, I was explaining that,” she muttered, though she didn't seem to know if she was amused or annoyed. “And this Keith—I don't know, maybe his parents named him after someone famous, but he's not in a band. He's a twat. I don't think anyone likes him, but he thinks he's funny so he's always heckling the teacher, but Mr. Kennedy, he just turns it back on the guy every time, using some kind of lesson from what we're doing or using semantics.”

“Semantics?”

Daisy shrugged. “It's what he calls it. He says word choice can be very effective. He's had us do these interesting assignments about how language and communication has changed—Dad, he's good. And I actually like going to his class. He's got others I could take, and I want to, so can you sign my form?”

Hardy frowned. “I don't know about this—”

“What is so bad about me taking other classes? What do you even care? You're never home, you don't know what any of them are like anyway, and I told you why I wanted to do it. It's not like I have crap reasons. God, you are so impossible. You think I'm trying to trick you or something, don't you?” She shook her head, snatching the form off the counter. “Fine. I'll have Mum do it since you're being bloody ridiculous.”

Hardy shook his head. He hadn't finished what he was saying, and she was overreacting. He just wanted to think about it more, make sure she wasn't doing this out of some mistaken impulse or because of her friend. “I didn't say I wouldn't—”

Daisy slammed the front door shut, and he swore.

The cat mewed, and he looked down at it. He set his jaw, swearing that thing was sitting in judgment of him.

“Don't you even start.”

* * *

“Bout bloody time,” Hardy said when the door finally opened. He knew the hut wasn't that big. It shouldn't have taken that long for the other man to get to the door, though it did seem like Hardy had managed to catch him in the middle of changing. Only half his shirt was tucked in, and his tie wasn't done, collar sticking up at the ends.

“Excuse me?”

“I need to look for the bracelet again,” Hardy said. He'd tried to ignore that need, but his fight with Daisy had reminded him of how he'd failed to do the one thing he was good at, and he had to set something against all of this.

“This is a really bad time for that. I'm running late, and I can't stay to let you out again. I've got to go. You should have asked in advance. Not that I know why I'm apologizing to you. I'm under no obligation to let you in, and I'm not so sure I should,” the other man told him. He checked his watch and swore. “I really do have to go.”

Hardy grimaced. This had been a stupid idea, but all of his were lately. Coming back here, bringing Daisy along...

“Look, maybe later today you could take another look—I'm afraid I haven't had much of any time to do it myself—but I do have to go.”

Hardy started to nod. “Five minutes. Check one place.”

The other man shook his head. “I can't. I know that shouldn't be so such a big thing, but as I already said, I'm late. I should have left half an hour ago, but I overslept, and I don't know why I'm telling you any of that, but it's true, and you'll have to excuse me.”

Hardy stepped back, letting him pass. He didn't have any good reason to argue with him or force him to stay. He didn't like it, but he couldn't arrest the man. He could break in, and he doubted that anyone would ever know he had, but that was too far.

He may have screwed up, but he couldn't go breaking laws over a bracelet, no matter how much it meant to Daisy or how badly he was doing at this parenting thing.

He found himself looking down for the cat and swore again before stalking off to his car.

* * *

“There you are,” Micheal said, and Tom looked over at him, not wanting to talk. He didn't want to see anyone, still angry over the suspension. That wasn't his fault, and if that stupid teacher hadn't stuck his nose in it, he wouldn't have been forced out because of Charlie, again. His mum had been all judgmental, too, taking away privileges and making being at home almost intolerable. His granddad had gone along with most of what his mum said, which just made Tom angrier. “Haven't seen you in a few days.”

Tom shrugged. “We talked online while I was stuck at home. You even sent me a few videos and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Micheal agreed. “What did you think of the last one? You didn't say anything.”

“It was different,” Tom said, and that was true. He didn't know what else to say. Some of the stuff in that video was like what Tom was feeling. No one understood him. His mum was never home. His life sucked. His father was gone, but he didn't want him back. He'd killed someone, and everyone thought Tom was just like that.

Still, the rest of that video had made him uneasy. He wasn't even sure why. He just felt unsettled watching it, and it wasn't one he wanted to see again or talk about.

“I've been watching a lot.”

“You mean the porn?” Tom asked. “It was all right. I was curious before, you know. What it was like, but now I know.”

“Yeah,” Micheal said. “Did you talk to that other guy after I left? Darkness45?”

“A bit,” Tom answered. That had also been weird. At first, talking to the other guy in the chat was fine, and they were all interested in similar things, but then the conversation got weird, like the video Michael had shared.

“He's pretty cool, huh?”

“Guess so,” Tom said. “Is that Leo, that friend you said got you the porn?”

“I don't know,” Micheal said. “Leo and I haven't talked much lately, but Darkness45 is almost always on, so we talk.”

Tom frowned. “Maybe you shouldn't. You don't know anything about him.”

“He's local. He goes to school here,” Micheal said. “He knows all about this place. Like we could forget, right? Still, he knows the school. I asked him about it, and he answered everything right. He's fine, not someone like—”

“What, like my dad?”

“Well...”

Tom shook his head and walked away.

* * *

“So your dad really wasn't going to let you change classes?”

Daisy shrugged. She didn't really want to discuss it or how her mum had reacted when she'd asked her to do the form. That had just been ugly, and she didn't understand why her mum thought it was worth fighting about, but she didn't care. She'd figured out her mum's signature years ago, and she put it on the page.

She felt a bit sick about it, but her dad was being stupid, and her mum was worse. This was a good thing, and they shouldn't be like this about it. She wanted to learn, and what parent was bothered by that?

Unless...

Had Ellie told her dad about the whole thinking Kennedy was cute thing? Was that why her dad was being such a knob?

“I was able to change them, that's the important thing,” Daisy said. “I'm looking forward to this other one. Communications is fun, but I think Mr. Kennedy could make even those boring classics we have to read interesting.”

Chloe nodded. “I've never been much of a reader, but I think this should be good. Of course, we'll probably have to do something Thomas Hardy or something because of the area. Every teacher seems to think so. And most of them are so depressing... why is it a classic means everyone has to end up unhappy or dead?”

“Or both?”

“Excellent question, ladies,” Kennedy said, coming in behind them. “Right in line with today's topic, though I hadn't thought either of you were in my literature class.”

“We both just got done with the switching,” Daisy told him. “Went from general courses to English.”

“Figured it would be more enjoyable this way. Your classes at least aren't boring, and I swear I was already failing maths,” Chloe admitted with a grimace.

“You changed courses because of me? I'm flattered, I think, though perhaps a bit intimidated. Well, find yourselves some seats and let's ask that question of the whole class. What makes a classic a classic?”

“It was made by dead people.”

“Thank you, Keith, insightful as ever,” Kennedy said. “It is actually true that almost all classics earn that distinction after their author is long dead, though it's not true in every case. Some authors achieve the mythical thing that is a 'modern classic.' Anyone else have a qualification they want to share?”

“It has to be confusing and boring,” Keith added, and Kennedy frowned. “Oh, and stupid.”

“Are you at all familiar with Lord of the Rings?” Kennedy asked. “Or perhaps even—”

“Everyone knows Lord of the Rings. Those were decent movies. Mostly.”

“They were books first. And while some might argue that there are flaws, that the stories are boring—he actually wrote them to explain the elvish languages he was creating, not tell a story as such, or so I was told once—these are an example of something that became a 'modern classic.' Confusing? Maybe a little. Stupid? Maybe if you don't like the Hobbits, but I—”

“The Hobbits are funny.”

“So perhaps the books are not as boring as you might think a classic has to be,” Kennedy said. Keith frowned at him. “You might try them, though I expect you'll skip over the parts where there is singing.”

“What?”

Kennedy leaned against his desk. “Anyone else want to share what makes a story classic?”

“Everyone dies or is completely miserable,” Chloe said. “Seems like it's always about people dying after causing a lot of problems.”

“Not always. There are happy endings to be had, though admittedly, the books I'm thinking of weren't well-received when they were published. Still, who here knows the name Jane Austen?”

Just about everyone raised their hands. Everyone but Keith. Daisy figured he was just messing with Kennedy again. Why was he even in all these English courses when he didn't seem to like the subject or their teacher?

“So it's not just about tragedy, though that makes up a great deal of what we consider classics today. And why do we suppose that might be?” Kennedy asked, pushing away from his desk and going to the board.

“Because it makes us feel,” Daisy said. “Even if that feeling is anger about everyone being so stupid.”

“Very possible. Let's take that statement a little further. Why is it so frustrating to read about these people being so stupid or stubborn or any other negative quality we might list off? Why do we care if lovers are star-crossed or families crumble?” Kennedy looked back at them, expecting an answer, but none of them had it to give. 

He picked up the eraser and cleared some of the last class' work. “Okay, let's ask it this way. You have mobile phones to send messages in an instant. They had quill pens and much longer delivery times. Still, despite the advance of technology, we can still relate to the characters. We can understand them. And that's what makes the true classics classic... that even out of their time period, they have some meaning or lesson to teach us, some value to our lives because we can still understand the characters and maybe even see some of their qualities in ourselves or wish we did. Despite time and all its changes, the core things that make us human are still there, and that opens up worlds of understanding to us even without the cultural references. Still... that's not something to discount.”

“Oh, great,” Keith muttered. “Another paper.”

The rest of the class laughed.

* * *

“Ellie?”

She looked up from her desk, hoping no one was going to ask her where Hardy was, because she had no idea, and she didn't want to know, though she had texted him a few times. Knowing him, he'd broken his phone or something, and they'd never know.

“What do you need, Bob?”

“They found something,” he told her, and she stiffened immediately. “At the beach.”


	5. Discoveries and Minor Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've found something on the beach, and it starts to connect people in ways they didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had one of those "nothing I write is good enough, and this story is going wrong/horrible" moments... well, all day, really, and so I found it hard to keep going, but I still tried, and while things went a bit awry of what I was hoping for, I guess I just have to hope this still works.

* * *

“Tell me this isn't what I think it is.”

No one responded, and Ellie winced. That settled it, then, this was a body. She swallowed, forcing herself forward. She didn't know what she'd do if it was another child. She wouldn't mind if it was Joe. She'd be glad of it, but if it was another boy or someone else... No, that couldn't happen. Not again. This wasn't the place for that. Joe was... he was some sick aberration. He wasn't normal. He wasn't what men were.

“It's this way, Ellie,” one of the other constables told her, and she followed him closer to the taped off area. “Old man found him. Said he was walking with his brother, but the brother is a bit... off, if you get my meaning.”

Ellie tried not to grimace. This one was hoping to get promoted out of being in uniform, and that should be a good thing, but it wasn't. She was too irritating, too ambitious, not thinking about what she was doing, just where this job would get her.

“DI Hardy will want to speak to them himself.”

“Is he coming, then? No one knew where he was.”

“Don't you have anything better to do than stand about gossiping about me?” Hardy demanded from behind them, and Ellie was both startled by his sudden appearance and a bit smug to see the reaction from the constable. She'd flinched, and that was just about what she deserved. “You can go.”

“Yes, sir,” the constable said, either properly chastised or currently cursing Hardy in her head—either was fine with Ellie.

“She's not the only one who was wondering where you were.”

Hardy snorted. “Don't tell me you care, Miller.”

“Well, to be honest, there was a part of me that did think that maybe you'd gotten yourself into some kind of trouble with your heart, maybe you were in hospital again, but I did think I'd have heard from Daisy if you had been,” Ellie began, and she saw a look pass over his face. “Wait. What was that? Did something happen to Daisy? I thought with how close she and Chloe were, I'd hear from Beth even if I didn't hear from you, but—”

“Daisy is fine.”

“Oh, that's convincing,” Ellie muttered, thinking they shouldn't do this here, and they were almost to the body now—that had to be a man under that sheet, didn't it? That was better than a child but not by much.

“She's fine. She's angry with me, but she's fine,” Hardy said, ducking under the tape and reaching the body before Ellie did. She grimaced and hurried after him. He picked up the sheet and looked at the man, frowning. “You recognize him, Miller?”

She shook her head. That was a bit of a relief, actually. She had hurt so much for Beth and the others when Danny died, and she had never known the true monster was her own husband. “No, but then I don't know everyone.”

Hardy nodded, turning to the nearest constable. “We have identification for him yet?”

“Not yet. He didn't have anything on him. Guess he didn't want to make that easy on us.”

Ellie frowned, but Hardy was the one to ask the question. “Are you implying he killed himself?”

“I rather think the state of the body when I found it disagrees with that,” an older man said, and Ellie recognized him from the boardwalk the other day. He'd been pushing his brother in a wheelchair. “While normally I would say I refuse to speculate in these cases, there are obvious marks of trauma that could not have occurred in any sort of fall from the clifftop, if that was the assumption. Nor would I say they were the marks of something that occurred in the water on the way to the shore.”

Hardy studied him. “And you are some kind of expert in this sort of thing?”

“Actually, yes,” the other man said, and Ellie stared at him. “I've served as a medical examiner for oh... goodness, how long has it been now? It's been thirty-five years with NCIS and before that it was a bit of—”

“Goodness,” Ellie said. “How did you end up here to find that one, then?”

“Focus, Miller. That can wait. We deal with the body now,” Hardy said, and she almost protested, but she knew the sooner they got the body off the beach, the better. And Brian was going to hate this, another beach crime scene. “You there, constable, the useless one. Yes, I mean you. Take this man over to the station so we can have a proper talk later. Go. Now.”

* * *

“I'm sorry about all that,” the female detective said as she sat down across from Ducky with her files and her coffee. “I would have liked to have had more of a chance to talk before, but the beach—”

“Is a terrible place for a crime scene,” Ducky finished for her, well aware of the difficulty there. He'd experienced it himself on occasion, and he still remembered young Anthony's valiant and painful efforts to preserve their crime scene from the frigid tide. “I've dealt with them myself. Not my preferred location to find bodies, though I have seen worse.”

“I'm sure you have with all those years doing this kind of work,” she said, and then the door opened, letting the other detective into the room. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “For the tape, DI Hardy has just entered the room. Sir, I don't think we actually have to—”

“I'm fine with having this be a formal interview,” Ducky said. “I've got nothing to hide, and while some do not understand my willingness to work in the field I do and have several misconceptions about how sane it is to do this work, I find it brings me a great deal of satisfaction, despite the overall tragedy of every death. Oh, some deserve it, I suppose, and those ones I rather think deserve more than a standard autopsy. Still, it's the others that keep me where I am. Someone has to speak for them, and they tell me so much—”

“You're not talking about clairvoyance or visions of the dead are you? Not going to arrange any seances?”

The woman winced at the man's question, looking like she'd endured this sort of behavior from her companion before. “You know—”

“I am speaking of science. Of forensics and anthropology and psychology and all the body can tell us after death or even before it. We can learn so much about a person from the physical marks they carry, even when they would seem to have no visible scars,” Ducky told him, and that got a grunt that seemed almost like approval from the other Scot.

“Aye, and what did this one tell you?”

“I'm afraid I didn't get the gentleman's name. Nicholas—that is my brother—he decided abruptly to get out of his chair and walk on the sand. He hadn't moved yesterday, so I wasn't expecting it. He got quite far before he tripped over that man—”

“So your brother was the one who actually found him?” Hardy interrupted. “Did anyone get his statement yet?”

“I doubt it would do you much good,” Ducky told him. “Unfortunately, my brother has a rather advanced case of Alzheimer's, and he remembers very little at all. I did move Nicholas away from the scene and attempted to preserve it as much as possible, as I know how valuable that is. I gathered my own impressions from what I saw of the body, and after I called it in, I took some pictures just in case the scene was disturbed before you arrived. I wasn't sure how Nicholas would react, and I have experienced enough gawkers to know that nowhere is sacred, not when people are curious.”

Hardy sat back in his chair. “I will be asking you for those pictures.”

“Naturally.”

“And I'd like to know a bit more about the impression you said you had of the body,” the woman said, getting a look from Hardy. “Oh, it can't hurt. We don't have to use it as evidence, but he has experience.”

“So he says. Miller, you still trust too much.”

Ducky was familiar with this sort of suspicion as well as the bickering between detectives, though he did think perhaps they were both regretting the formal interview now. “I would not offer cause of death without a thorough examination, but the wounds I observed suggested a sharp blade. The absence of additional bruising makes it more likely that rocks were not the cause of it, though that cannot be ruled out yet as the bruises could still be forming. The water will confuse time of death, but he was cold to the touch and rigor had passed. I didn't have anything to take his liver temperature with, and I did not touch the body again after verifying his death.”

“And what were you doing on the beach?” Miller asked. “I mean, apart from the obvious. What brings you to Broadchurch? It's not really tourist season right now. Beaches are too cold.”

“I promised Nicholas when he was still quite young that we would take a seaside holiday. After his mother took him away from my father, I lost track of him and had believed he was dead. I know he won't remember it, but I am keeping that promise.”

“Oh, that's lovely.”

Hardy snorted. She glared at him, and he ignored it. “Do you know anyone in Broadchurch?”

“Just the ones I've met since coming to town. I understand the inn just got new owners, and they're busy most times, so I haven't spoken to them much. Nicholas wanted to window shop along the high street yesterday, and I spoke to a few people along the way, but on the whole, no, I'm not acquainted with anyone here,” Ducky answered. “If you want to know why Broadchurch of all seaside towns... well, Blackpool would have been too overwhelming for Nicholas, and I do have a bit of fondness for Thomas Hardy.”

“And you didn't recognize the man you found?”

“Not a bit, I'm afraid. I've never seen him before, not in any place I visited, but then I haven't seen all of the town yet. It may be a bit small, but Nicholas does not have much stamina, and his mental state can be quite fragile. He doesn't always want to be doing things. Admittedly, I'm not that much better myself. I've slowed down some since the heart attack.”

“Heart attack?”

“Not a word, Miller,” Hardy warned. “How long are you planning to stay in Broadchurch?”

“I have allotted a week for this part of our journey. There are others we need to take, but I wasn't sure how much we'd get to do, and this was sort of our first test,” Ducky answered. “I will be around to answer more questions should you have them, and of course, I'd be willing to offer any assistance you might need.”

“We'll keep it in mind.”

* * *

“And why they chose to schedule research just after lunch, I've no clue,” Kennedy said, and Chloe tried not to blush as she realized she'd almost fallen asleep in class. She hadn't thought she would, not when Kennedy was as funny as he was, but research was so boring, and this was almost enough to make her regret changing her focus. “Oh, come on now. At least one of you should be awake enough to laugh.”

“Does it get any less boring?” Chloe asked, rubbing the side of her head and fighting a yawn.

“No,” he said, giving her a smile. “It's research. And I say that as someone who has done my fair share of it over the years. Precedents, codes, college papers that never mattered after they were graded... Still, the thing is... you can't avoid research. You may think you can, but you don't. We research everything, from the ingredients in our food to the new device we want to buy. Even if you don't comparison shop, if you buy everything sight unseen, you're doing research. It's trial and error, and sometimes it does not pay off, but it is still research.”

“This is the formal kind, though,” Daisy said. “Where you have to cite it and put in a bibliography and all that.”

“It is. And I've given you all a sample bibliography that you can use for reference and a good laugh, so you shouldn't have too many problems with the formatting,” Kennedy said, and Chloe frowned, looking down at her paper.

She read it over and bit her lip, trying to hold in the laughter over the made up book names and authors. This was great.

“None of these are real books,” Keith grumbled, and Chloe rolled her eyes. That was the point of the whole thing.

“Yes, well, you can practice plenty with real books because this class is meant to teach you how to research properly. And now that I've said that, I don't want to finish it,” Kennedy admitted, shaking his head. “I hate research, so I guarantee you I will be just as miserable as you are. I always envied my wife. She had a photographic memory, could bring back anything she read. I told her I wanted to use her as my source and she laughed.”

“Dude, that had to suck,” Keith said, ever sensitive. “She must have remembered every screw up you ever made.”

Kennedy blinked, and he started to say something when the principal came into the room. Chloe tensed, not the only one who did, since that guy never visited the classes.

“I need a word.”

Kennedy nodded. “All right. All of you get to decide what word you would give—keep it clean and appropriate—and after you've written it down, you can take out your phone for thirty seconds. Keep the status updates short.”

The principal gave him a look, and he forced another smile as he walked out with the other man. Chloe shook her head, wondering what Keith's word would be and just how stupid or inappropriate.

Daisy leaned over to Chloe's side. “I think I'm still glad we switched.”

“You are?”

Daisy nodded. “Think how boring this class would be if we had anyone other than Kennedy.”

Chloe laughed, knowing that would be pure torture, since not even Kennedy could make this class much better. “Yeah.”

“You two are so pathetic, coming in here and mooning over him all the time,” Keith muttered, and Chloe turned around to glare at him. “He's not that good. Or that good looking.”

“Just because you seem to think you have to make fun of everything he does doesn't mean he's a bad teacher,” Chloe told him. “I've had a lot worse. So have you. You know Mrs. Barber was ten times worse and she smelled.”

Keith grunted. “So? Kennedy is an overrated self-important arse who only thinks he's funny.”

“On that note, this is going to be very awkward,” Kennedy said, shaking his head as he reentered the room. “Keith, you need to gather your things. You've been excused for the rest of the day.”

“No, I haven't. My dad's not even home to do that. He wouldn't pull me out. I'm not going. You want to send me to the office, be a man about it and say so.”

“I could have reserved you a permanent seat there first day of school,” Kennedy said, and then he winced. “I didn't, and I won't. However, you are excused.”

“No.”

“Keith, please. The principal is waiting to speak to you—”

“I'm not going,” Keith insisted. “Quit acting like you're trying to be kind because you're not. Just like you're not funny. You don't have to lie about it. You can admit you can't handle me.”

Kennedy walked to the back of the room, stopping by Keith's desk. Keith pulled away when Kennedy tried to speak in his hear, so even though he spoke quietly, with the whole room silent, everyone could still hear him. 

“Your father is dead. You've been excused. I'm sorry.”


	6. Obvious Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Hardy interview Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had another bit of fearing I was back to not being able to write again, which is never a pleasant experience. I wanted to, but every time I looked at the page, nothing came, and while I have these parts that are so clear for later bits, the ways to tie them together just keep on eluding me and making it difficult to make progress.
> 
> (And they make that insecurity of mine worse, I have to admit.) Still, I think this will work with what is coming, and while it's not all clear yet, I'm working on it.

* * *

“There, now. Have a seat,” Miller said, and Hardy gave her a look. She might just be coddling this one, and judging from his age and the look he'd just given her, he didn't want it, dead father or no dead father. That of course had Hardy interested, since this could very well be a case where the tensions between them had gotten violent. He doubted Miller had even thought of that, since she was too busy trying to comfort the boy. “I don't know what they told you—”

“All that prat told me was that my father was dead. The principal started trying to give me condolences, but he didn't know what happened, either.”

“And you, Keith,” Hardy began, “do _you_ know what happened?”

Keith's eyes went to him, sharp and suspicious. Aye, that kid knew exactly what Hardy was thinking, and the more time he spent with him, the more he thought he wasn't wrong.

“No, I don't. Dad was going out of town for work again. He does it all the time,” the boy said, shrugging. “I haven't seen him in days.”

“And it's just you and your father in your home, is it?” Miller asked, still taking the gentler route and shooting Hardy a look of warning.

He ignored it. He wouldn't say that pushing was the only way to handle it, but he also knew he wasn't going to pretend he was fooled by this kid. Keith wasn't grieving. He wasn't angry about his father's death. He was not acting like a child who lost a parent they loved. At best, Keith hated his father and was just relieved the bastard was gone.

At worst, they were looking at the man's killer here and now.

“It's just us,” Keith said. “Was just us. Me mum... she took off years ago. Couldn't stand him, I guess, didn't want me. So she up and left.”

“Which of them named you Keith, then?”

Keith frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Hardy shrugged. Miller was frowning at him, too, but he still wanted to connect this kid's name to a drummer, not the little prick in front of him. “I take it you don't know anything about the Who.”

“What?”

“Keith,” Miller said, rubbing her head and pulling the conversation back where it should be. “When was the last time you saw your father?”

The kid leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Monday?”

“And are you aware now of what day it is?” Hardy asked, getting more irritated by the second. The boy glared at him, and that just made him angrier. “It's Friday. Now, maybe they don't teach basic math in this school of yours—Lord knows I'm not too impressed with what I've seen of my daughter's courses—but that's more than a couple days ago. That's five. Five days your father's been gone, and you didn't think that was at all odd?”

“I told you—he's always gone for work,” Keith said. “I just figured he was off again, and I didn't care. Why should I?”

“Well, admittedly, I wouldn't give a toss about my father, but Miller over there, she cares about hers even though they don't get on,” Hardy said. “Which is it with you? That you didn't get on? Or did you hate him?”

“I'm not going to start blubbering like a baby about him being gone,” Keith said. “I told you. He was never here. What's to miss?”

Miller grimaced. “Were things strained between you because he was gone a lot?”

“He would go for days, leave me alone to fend for myself, and then come back acting all lord and master and try and tell me what to do,” Keith muttered, shaking his head. “'Course I was angry with him. He was an idiot. I didn't need him.”

“Aye,” Hardy said, “Maybe not, but did you kill him?”

“What? You never even said he'd been killed. No one said that. Just that they found him and he was dead. Someone killed him?”

Hardy tried to decide if he believed that one or not. It had the right tone, just enough outrage and disbelief mixed with the anger the kid was definitely showing now, but he didn't know that it was genuine. He also wasn't sure it was fake.

“We're not sure yet. We're still waiting on more information from the pathologist, but right now, his death is suspicious,” Miller said, giving Hardy another look. “We need to know what happened before your father died. If the last time you saw him was Monday, then we need you to tell us about that Monday. What was the morning like?”

Keith shrugged. “Same as usual. He was up, yelling at me about being late for school. I told him to piss off. There's no point in being on time, not to that class. Don't know why I even bothered with English. I know how to speak it. The rest don't matter. And the teacher's a knob.”

Hardy thought the knob was sitting right across from them. “And that was the last time you saw your father?”

“Yes, I already told you that. Can I go now?”

“We have a few more questions,” Miller told him. “Shouldn't take too long, though.”

* * *

“Mr. Kennedy?”

“I can't tell you anything about what happened to Keith's dad. For one, it's not appropriate, and for another, I don't know,” he said, not looking up from the papers on his desk. He flipped one over and started on the next one in his pile.

“I wasn't going to ask about that,” Chloe said, and he did look up then. She supposed it seemed weird since everyone had tried to get him to talk about it as soon as Keith was out of the room, and he'd ignored them, going on about some kind of research rule that no one paid attention to, not even trying to make it fun or anything. Not that anyone was listening to it, so she supposed he was right not to bother. “It's Broadchurch. We'll all know soon enough.”

He frowned. “You will?”

“You've never lived in a small town before, have you?” Daisy asked. “Dad says they're the worst. Everyone knows everyone's business, but for some reason, they all feel they have to lie about it. Or they lie because they think no one knows when everyone does.”

That got another frown from Kennedy.

“Her dad's a cop,” Chloe said, and Kennedy blinked, taking that in. “No, we both wanted to make sure that we were all caught up in the new courses we've joined.”

“That one lady in the office, she said we'd never make it up even though school just barely started,” Daisy explained. “She seemed to think that we couldn't, and I got the sense my dad did, too, since he wasn't so happy about me switching. And Miller was all worried about her son being out for a whole week, too.”

Kennedy set down his pen. “I think, compared to some of the previous teachers in my position, I may have less homework overall, as I was shown at least one syllabus with double the assignments for week one alone, and while I won't claim you don't have things to catch up on, I've been keeping the assignments short so far. We're working on groundwork in all of our classes, we've barely opened the books we'll be discussing in Literature, and I want people to understand why they're doing the exercise, not just filling out a paper. So far, I haven't seen any I thought weren't actually written by the student who turned it in, which is... I think something of an accomplishment.”

“Um, yeah, considering Keith is in all your classes.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn't consider Keith's assignments as fulfilling the requirement—I did not say that,” Kennedy said, grimacing. “Just... You have the syllabus. You do have time to make the missing assignments up, and I will accept them within the next... oh, week, I guess, that seems fair, and that should get everyone up to the same page.”

Chloe nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Totally doable,” Daisy agreed. “So, we'll get those back to you by next Friday, yeah?”

He nodded. “Yes, though any new assignments are still due the next day or whatever day I do assign it. I mean... Look, it has been a very long day for all of us, and I am ready to go home myself now. I'm sure you are, too, so please, go. Enjoy your weekend. I would recommend getting started on some of the make up work, but that's only a suggestion.”

“A good one,” Chloe told him, because she would probably try and get at least half of it done over the weekend. If she'd been hoping he'd be cool enough to say forget everything the class had done before they transferred in, she was a bit disappointed, but she could live with it.

“We'll see you Monday, then,” Daisy said, and Chloe agreed with a nod, walking out with her.

They started down the hall. Most of the kids had already left, clearing out as quick as they could for the weekend, and only a few of them were lingering by their lockers.

“You think your dad has Keith's dad's case?”

“I know he does.”

“He won't tell you anything about it, though, will he?”

Daisy shook her head. “No, though everyone's going to ask me about it anyway.”

* * *

“You know you pushed too soon.”

Hardy grunted, sitting down at his desk. “That kid may have killed his father, Miller. I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it. Can't. I don't work that way. Don't do the pretenses. Don't play nice, and certainly not with little pricks that think they can fool the police. He lied at least once, and he was not at all upset by his father's death. Bloody little sociopath.”

Ellie sighed, taking the other chair. She didn't want Hardy to be right about this. She didn't want to believe that. She knew now, had it forced on her the hard way, the truth of his words about anyone being capable of murder, but she still didn't want to think of a boy Keith's age killing his father.

God, he wasn't that much older than Tom. What did that say about this world? How much should she worry about her own son?

“I want to talk to all the neighbors and get all the local CCTV we can find anywhere near that house of theirs,” Hardy said. “I want the whole house searched thoroughly. I want to know if that is where Moon died. “If it wasn't that kid, I want something that proves it wasn't, because it's looking like it is, and no one's going to like this. Hell, half of them won't even believe it, despite everything he said to us in there, his whole attitude about losing his father. He looked right at us and he _didn't care._ My father was a bastard, and I hated him off and on most of my life, but when he died, even I had a moment or two of... something. This kid... I don't think he feels anything.”

“That could be shock,” Ellie said. “Maybe it just hasn't really hit him yet. I know there are times when things don't... they're just not real. It takes something to change things. Maybe when he walks into his house again, that will make it hit and he will be more than upset to please you.”

Hardy leaned back in his chair. “Do you actually believe that?”

“No,” she admitted, and he almost smiled. “Don't get all happy about this. We're talking about a teenager who murdered his father, and he didn't claim self-defense. He didn't tell us his father was abusive, just that he wasn't there. So this father that's not there... he deserved to die, is that it? Is that all it takes to kill?”

“People have done it for less,” Hardy said. “I'm not saying it was in this case, but it could be. We need to know. And depending on how smart this kid is, we may have to push, to make him think we have a lot more than we do, since we don't have much of anything yet, and if we can't hold him here, we could lose him.”

“He's got more reason to run if he thinks we suspect him.”

“Aye, and a part of me wants that. The panic. If he panics, we know there's more there. We've already got his house to check, and he won't be in it to destroy anything, but if he's telling the truth about not seeing his father since Monday, he's had five days to get rid of plenty of evidence. There may be nothing left.”

“Damn it,” Ellie said. “I hate when you're right.”

She rubbed her head. This was going to be a very, very long day. She knew that, but she didn't want to think that they'd already ballsed up their case somehow or that Keith could just get away with it like that.

She took out her phone, preparing to send a text to her father that would make him angry. “Have you heard from Daisy yet?”

Hardy grunted, taking out his phone and looking down at it. “She says she knows I have a case and will be at the Latimer's for the night.”

“Probably for the best,” Ellie agreed. She finished her text and put her phone back away. “All right. Where do you want to go next?”

“You know that neighborhood? The one where the Moons live?”

“A bit. Why?”

“Which of those neighbors would you guess knows everyone's business and can tell us the last time anyone really saw Moon?”

Ellie took a deep breath. She wasn't sure, not without meeting anyone, since she didn't have every address memorized, and she wasn't likely to ever do that. “Oh, wait. Is that where Mrs. Barber ended up? God, she was such a pain. She just about failed me when I had her class, me and Beth, and Beth told me she's the reason Chloe had to repeat a year. She even gave Olly a hard time, and he can usually charm the pants off anyone. Oh, and she smelled. God awful. It just seemed to get worse every year. I bet they're glad she finally retired.”

“Go talk to her.”

“What, me?”

“Aye, you.”

“You're not coming?”

“No.”

* * *

He closed the door to the hut behind him, dropping his bag next to the wall. He walked into the kitchen, pulling a bottle out of the cupboard. He took a glass out and filled it, grimacing when he saw what he'd bought and what must have made him do it. He didn't want to think about that. That bridge was burned well and good, and there was no going back.

He drank it anyway, trying to decide if he'd just overlooked something, if he'd been blind, or if he was wrong about that. Could he have missed all the signs, or were there even any to miss? He'd seen signs in others, and he though he had a good handle on things, but this...

He'd missed it. He'd been wrong.

He reached for the phone. He didn't have a choice.

_We have a problem._


	7. Any Small Clue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Hardy continue the investigation, Tom finds himself in an awkward place with a friend, and something new is uncovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I knew for a long time was that the part at the end was coming. It was a bit tricky to get there.
> 
> As I've made this AU (for both shows/source material) I went ahead and gave them a different CS. It's just a minor thing, but it's one of the small things that have changed in season three of Broadchurch, and I do think that because of where things with this plot have gone, Trish Winterman was spared her ordeal as well.

* * *

“Brian says he's never seen a house with a teenager that clean in his life.”

Hardy grunted. He'd expected as much, and while he wasn't pleased by it, he had some small satisfaction in knowing that he hadn't been entirely wrong about his suspicion. They likely had their crime scene, though they might not get much of use from it. Not that all of the forensics would go away, but enough damage could have been done by now that they would have a hard time proving anything, especially if the damned jury was as stupid as the one in Joe Miller's trial.

“And Mrs. Barber still smells,” Miller muttered, sinking into the other chair. “Tell me you did not sit here the entire time I interviewed neighbors. If you did, I think I will have to—”

“Save your cup,” Hardy told her. “Should have gone with you. Might have avoided the CS if I had. Wanted an update when we've got nothing, wanted a bloody estimate of when we'd have answers, and kept trying to tell me how to do my bloody job.”

Miller grimaced. “We didn't know we had it so good with Jenkinson. This guy's a right bastard. More of a knob than you are, and I didn't think that was possible.”

Hardy shook his head, having had his fair share of them over the years, starting all the way back in Scotland. “I hate being micromanaged.”

She stared at him. “That is a word I never pictured you saying.”

“I'm sure there are thousands of words you think I wouldn't ever use. Should I get them all out of the way now so you can focus on your bloody job?” Hardy asked, and she glared at him. “No? Then let's get back to work. We have a strong suspect in the boy. He lived alone with his father, seems to have hated him, claims not to have seen him for days, the house has been cleaned—”

“None of which is proof,” Miller said. “I don't like his attitude through this whole thing, but if he was going to kill his father, why would he be so obvious about it? He had to know he'd be suspected, acting the way he did, being the only other person in the house... He had to think we'd look at him before anyone else.”

“You weren't.”

“Two seconds into talking to him,” Miller protested. “I have never said you weren't right about him, just that I wish you weren't. Not that I like him, I don't, but I look at him and I see Tom. It scares me. I don't want that for anyone, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be blind to everything, either. This isn't like Joe where I never saw it, didn't get any inkling from him that he was involved... This kid screams involved.”

“Aye,” Hardy said, leaning back in his chair. “It's almost too obvious. I don't like it.”

“Who would be framing the kid?”

“Anyone else with a motive? If they knew the family well, they'd think the son was an obvious choice. Daisy said he was a prat. Acted up in class, talked back to the teacher,” Hardy said. “Kid doesn't have any friends that she knows of, but she's new herself. Maybe there are others we don't know about that might have an idea if he did something to his father.”

“Tom's never mentioned him, and I'd have remembered, with that name,” Miller said, and Hardy grunted, though at least she got the reference. “He might know others who know him, though. Trouble is getting him to say anything to me. He's been avoiding me since he got suspended.”

Hardy shook his head. “We can ask other sources. Might even need to speak to this teacher of Daisy's.”

“I don't know if that's wise,” Miller said, and he frowned at her. “Daisy actually likes her teacher, and you don't need to make trouble for her, not if it's not necessary. Also, he's new, he's not going to know Keith that well to know if his behavior has changed. We don't know that we will get anything of use, and we should prioritize other interviews first.”

“Fine,” Hardy said, not needing to make his troubles with his daughter worse. He hadn't had a chance to look for her bracelet again, and he wouldn't, not with this case and the added pressure of knowing their suspect was already slipping through their fingers.

“We should probably start with Keith's friends.”

“Aye.”

* * *

Tom peeked around the corner. Fred was distracting his grandad again, so he shouldn't get interrupted again. His grandfather didn't seem to care about what was on the laptop, not like his mum, and she'd already called to say she wouldn't be home until very late, if at all. Even if she did come, she'd probably just pop in and out to change, like she had when Danny died.

Grimacing, Tom shook his head, going back to the screen. He thought he'd rather be talking to Micheal through text or even on the phone, but Micheal was all about the chat rooms, had been for a while now. Tom almost missed when that Leo jerk was around, since at least then Michael wasn't always in the chat rooms, even if he was almost always watching porn.

 _Sonofawanker:_ You still there?

Tom almost wanted to say he wasn't. He didn't have many friends besides Micheal, though, and he didn't know who else he would talk to or where he would get other videos if he stopped talking to him. He just didn't want this conversation going back to where he thought it would go.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ Yeah, I'm here.

 _Sonofawanker:_ I still haven't seen Darkness45. Have you?

Tom sighed. No, and he didn't want to, but Micheal didn't seem to understand that. He really seemed to like that guy, and Tom didn't understand it. Darkness45 talked a lot, and at first, he'd talked about stuff they all did, how much school sucked, their parents didn't understand them, all of that. Tom didn't mind that sort of talk. They all did it. They all had problems, and it was nice to vent to someone that would actually listen to it.

That part was fine. It was the rest of it that wasn't. The talk about purposes, callings... That was weird. Tom didn't like that as much, but Michael seemed to be eating it up, and it was a bit... weird. He really did seem to like the idea of being part of whatever it was Darkness45 was selling... and getting far away from this place and everyone in it.

Tom didn't blame him for that. He wanted to leave a lot of the time, but then his dad had killed Danny Latimer. Everyone talked about that, everyone thought it was sick—that his father was sick, a pedophile—and they all thought Tom was the same. He hated it. He hated it so much he wished he had somewhere else to go, but he didn't.

Even if he did, would anyone ever see him as anything but Joe Miller's son?

 _Sonofawanker:_ Well?

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ I haven't seen him. He might be gone for the weekend or something. Maybe his dad has custody on the weekends or something.

 _Sonofawanker:_ Maybe.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ Why does it matter so much? Why not do something else if he's not around? What about football practice? Don't you have that to go to?

 _Sonofawanker:_ I don't want to be on the team.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ What? Since when?

 _Sonofawanker:_ Since Dad hit me in front of the team at the end of that match. Leo tried to make it better, but it isn't. I don't want to play, not with people who saw that. I just want to get away from here. I hate it.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ I hate it, too, but why let him take football from you? You're good. He's just being a knob because he doesn't want you to do better than him. He knows you are, though, so he's being a dick. Ignore him.

 _Sonofawanker:_ Yeah, like that works. You don't ignore the ones that think you're just like your dad. You get into fights all the time.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ It's not the same. You said half the reason you're fighting with him is because he's not paying any attention to you. You could avoid him easily enough. He's not like Charlie. Charlie always finds me. He comes after me. Your dad ignores you.

 _Sonofawanker:_ Thanks a lot. Some friend you are.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ You know that's not what I meant—

_Sonofawanker has left the chat. Sonofawanker is offline._

Tom swore, shaking his head. That was just great.

* * *

“No, Abigail, I assure you, it's not necessary,” Ducky said, giving Nicholas another glance. His brother was more moving his food around the plate than he was eating anything, and today was probably the worst he'd been since Ducky had found him again, though he wasn't surprised. Finding a body would unbalance anyone—well, with a few exceptions—and Nicholas was certainly not immune, even with his memory problems.

“I really wish you'd let one of us come with you,” she said across the line. “I'd feel so much better if we could help. Any one of us. We'd all be with you if we could.”

“And I appreciate that, but I don't want to trouble anyone else. I'm not sure if I'm going to prolong this trip for much longer. I am obligated to remain here for the week, possibly longer if I'm needed for this investigation, though I doubt it. The local constabulary did not seem very interested in having my assistance.”

“They would if they knew you. You're the best.”

“Thank you, my dear. I feel the same way about you and your invaluable assistance over the years. I will let you know if I need anything, I promise. In the meantime, let everyone know that things are going well, random local murders aside, and I miss you all.”

“Even Gibbs?”

“Ah, now, that is a bit of a tale. I do think that this particular local officer could rival him for disposition, though perhaps not the glare.”

“That is trademark Gibbs,” Abigail said with a laugh. “All right. I'll let you go as I just got a bunch of evidence to go through for our case, but you take care of yourself and Nicholas, okay?”

“I promise,” Ducky said, ending the call. He looked over at his brother, seeing most of the food now on the floor. “I suppose now is as good a time as any for a bit of a break, isn't it?”

“Ice cream?”

Ducky glanced toward the window, eying the weather. It was not ideal for ice cream at all, but it had been some time since he'd had a .99, and he wasn't about to deny his brother that, even if Nicholas had eaten very little. They could work on that later, when he was calmer, less troubled by the discovery he'd made before.

“Yes, I think so. Shall we take a walk up to the pier?”

Nicholas seemed to nod, so Ducky took the tray away from him and cleaned up, storing what food hadn't made it to floor before shaking off the blanket and replacing it over Nicholas' legs. His brother smiled up at him.

“Donnie always takes such good care of me,” sounding once again like the child that had put so much trust in his older brother despite his current age.

“I try,” Ducky told him, still pained by losing him for so many years. “Let's go get that ice cream now, shall we?”

He pushed the chair out of the door, starting up the walk. He found it easier to move himself and Nicholas around by walking, even if it was a bit of a strain sometimes, his physical limits less than they were previously. He was not done yet, not by any means, but he would have to delegate more and more to Palmer if the trend continued. He might even be forced into the position of a consultant, and he did not know that he liked the idea at all.

He stopped at the first stand he found and paid for an ice cream, the proprietors apparently not fazed by the request even in this weather. He gave the dessert to his brother, and Nicholas happily went to work on it as Ducky pushed the chair closer to the beach, wanting the scenery he'd come for, wishing he could have done this before, when the memories would last and without so much regret.

“Oh, hello, there,” the detective in the orange coat called out to him. Her hair was going wild in the wind, but she still smiled. “I was just about to go looking for you. Seems our boys found something down in the sand, and I need to be sure it's not yours or your brother's.”

Ducky nodded. He did not mind answering that question. “No companion this time?”

“I thought to spare you his temper. He's been a foul mood since before the body, but I think he feels we're up against more of a clock than usual, and while he might be right about it, it doesn't make him any easier to deal with—and he's a knob on a good day.”

Ducky smiled, amused by her description of the other man. “I hope you don't lump all us Scotsmen in that category.”

“It's not that. It's just him.” Miller reached into her pocket and took out an evidence bag. “Have you seen this before?”

Ducky adjusted his glasses, studying the object in the plastic. “While I did study at various institutions of distinction—Eton College and later the University of Edinburgh—I am afraid Oxford was never one of them, and my brother left Britain at a very young age, never to return thanks to his rather unpleasant mother, who sought to keep him from my father and me. It doesn't belong to either of us. I suppose it's possible it could have been in the room we rented, Nicholas picked it up, and later dropped it, but I could not say as I didn't observe anything like that. I don't suppose the man who died was an Oxford man?”

“Doubtful,” Miller said, putting the bag back in her pocket. “He was a bit of a day laborer, and there wasn't much of that about, so he'd go for days to look for work, or so I've been told.”

“Curious. Then again, with this being a tourist area, it could be from anyone,” Ducky said, and she nodded, looking unhappy about it. “I'm sorry. I wish I could have been of more assistance.”

“It's fine. It may not have any connection to the case at all,” she said, and Ducky watched her wave to another passerby, giving him a smile. “Hello, again, Mr. Kennedy. If you have a minute, can I ask you about a student of yours? Sorry, Doctor Mallard. If you'll excuse me—”

“Of course,” he said, about to wave her off without another thought, knowing she was busy in the middle of a case, but then he got a good look at the man she'd spoken to, and he couldn't help staring. It couldn't be.

This was impossible, and yet... unmistakable. Ducky knew that face. Those eyes. They were unforgettable. He didn't understand. How could that man be here, now, of all places? And why? 

“Jakob?”


	8. Doubles and Double Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kennedy's identity comes into question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have altered a bit of character background. I have an explanation for it, but as the source gave very little for it in the first place, I don't actually know that I've done anything that couldn't be true (aside from one detail, but it has explanation, just not here.)
> 
> I do think this bit went better in my head. Somehow I didn't translate it well, despite my best efforts.

* * *

“Jakob?”

Ellie looked back at Mallard, certain she'd heard him call his brother Nicholas, not Jacob, and she was also very sure that the Christian name she'd had for Kennedy was also very much not Jacob. In fact, he was probably glad to go around without the kids knowing his first name and always calling him Kennedy or sir.

Though maybe he liked going by Archibald. She didn't know.

“I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else,” Kennedy told Mallard, looking very uncomfortable as he said it. Then he turned to her, a bit more composed, but still visibly stressed. “And I apologize, Mrs. Miller, but I don't have that minute to spare right now. Please excuse me.”

“It's about Keith Moon, and it is important,” Ellie told him, and he frowned. “I know I didn't mention it when you broke up that fight with my son, but it's DS Miller. I need to speak to you about Keith. Now would be best. Just a minute or two. It won't take long, and it's the weekend. I thought teachers had those free.”

“It is, and I do, except I have a private appointment I can't be late to,” he insisted. “I promise to make time to speak to you later. As soon as I'm done, I promise, Mrs. Mill—DS Miller.”

She nodded, letting him go with reluctance. She didn't know what could be that important he couldn't make the time or explain to the person he was meeting he had to speak to the police, and it would have made Hardy all sorts of suspicious, she was sure. He might have wanted to arrest the man on the spot.

She turned back to Mallard. “You know Mr. Kennedy?”

“Well, that's a bit complicated to answer,” Mallard began. “You see... I do not know him as Kennedy, but I am almost certain I do, in fact, know him. I could not forget him or the pain he caused a good friend of mine. No, I wouldn't think I'd mistake him for anyone, not with those very distinctive eyes, though I suppose if one does factor in the theory, the one that claims that we all have our own doppelgangers out there in the world, it is possible. I've never met mine, but I've never fully disproved the idea, either.”

Ellie frowned. She'd gotten a rather favorable impression of Kennedy from when he'd handled that matter with Tom and Daisy had nothing but praise for him. Was this another Joe? Were they that wrong about him? “You're sure his name isn't Kennedy?”

“It certainly isn't the name I know him under,” Mallard said. “Or the accent, for that matter.”

Ellie rubbed her forehead, confused. “What are you—is he supposed to be American, then?”

“The man I know is, yes,” Mallard agreed. “Though that accent is near flawless, almost perfect Oxford, and would be rather convincing—to everyone else, I am certain it was.”

“If he's American, what is he doing here? Why is he teaching at my son's school under another name and with a different accent?” Ellie asked. “Oh, God. Tell me he is not a pedophile.”

“While his relationship with my colleague ended poorly and we all felt he behaved badly, there was never any indication of that with him. Admittedly, none of us saw his infidelity coming, not even with the problems in their marriage, but all of his relationships were with adult women. I suppose I am casting a great deal of suspicion upon the man,” Mallard mused. “Please excuse me. I think it best I confer with my team back home. If I am mistaken, it would be easy enough to learn, as he may well still be in Washington DC.”

“Yes, please do that,” Ellie said. She hesitated, not sure if she should ask him to tell them what they found. If Mallard was right, they had a potential suspect now in the teacher.

She supposed they'd have to speak to Kennedy now, no avoiding it or putting it off, since the questions raised by Mallard's apparent recognition of him were too great to ignore, and while she supposed there could be good reasons the man had lied about his name and used a fake accent, ones that weren't criminal, she couldn't think of many.

Hardy would say there weren't any, and she did not think she wanted to have that conversation with him, not that she had any choice.

Then again, he might not believe Mallard, either. Maybe he'd think the old man was the one lying, that Mallard knew more about Moon's death than some casual stranger should, that he'd done more than find the body.

Her head hurt, and she no longer knew what to think or who to believe.

* * *

He walked into the house, shut the door behind him, and reached for something to throw, needing to damage something, to let his anger out. He tore through the room, upending cushions and overturning furniture. He hadn't broken anything yet, but he wanted to, frustrated as he was.

He felt helpless again. He hated that feeling. He couldn't stand feeling helpless. It made him desperate. He looked around at the room. Desperate and dangerous.

He'd already made a giant mess, and he'd barely been in the house a few minutes. God, what was wrong with him? He didn't do this. He was controlled. He was calm. He was fine.

Only he wasn't. He couldn't be. He knew that was impossible right now.

He didn't believe this. How had it all gone so wrong so damned fast?

He couldn't fix it. He didn't know how.

* * *

“Was it his?”

“Some people say hello. Or at least nod or look in someone else's direction when they speak to them,” Miller muttered, sounding annoyed, but then she very frequently did when she spoke to him. Hardy had noticed that. He ignored it most of the time. It wasn't important, just like most of her wittering wasn't.

Then again, she should have important information on their case, and after yet another meeting with their micromanaging arse of a supervisor, he wanted to hear they had something they could use. They'd gotten nowhere with the neighbors or locating the boy's friends—he didn't have any, Daisy was right about that—and Hardy was tired and angry, frustrated by their lack of progress. He'd been angry about Danny Latimer, but this was different.

This wasn't a child who'd been killed. This was very likely a child who'd done the killing. And yeah, some said the boy wasn't a kid any longer, but that didn't make it any easier to accept, not when the little bastard was looking to get away with it.

“Was it his?” Hardy repeated, wanting a damned answer.

“He says it isn't his,” Miller said, collapsing into the chair. She looked over at him. “I hate you, by the way. I don't know who or what to believe now.”

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Hardy asked. “What, the old man is lying? What does he gain by killing Moon?”

“I've no idea,” Miller admitted. “I just... He identified this as coming from Oxford—”

“So did the idiot that picked it up out of the sand. What is the point of this, Miller?”

“And then not much after that, I saw the boy's teacher, Kennedy, walking the path, and I asked him if he had a minute. He stopped, and I thought he might have said something to me, but Mallard called him by a name I didn't think was his and startled him. He excused himself, said he had an appointment,” Miller explained. “He did say he'd answer all of our questions, but then when I was alone again with Mallard—well, his brother was there—he told me that while the accent was a near flawless Oxford, it couldn't be real, and that man isn't Archibald Kennedy.”

Hardy grimaced. “First Keith Moon, then a man who says call him 'Ducky,' and then a—”

“Lord, I so wish I'd had a camera for that moment. Your face. That's the highlight of this whole bloody awful week.”

Hardy ignored that, too. He didn't care what the man said, and Ducky for Mallard was an obvious nickname. “Why would either of them lie? Did Mallard tell you this bastard was after the kids? That why he's teaching?”

“No. At least, not as far as Mallard knew, but it's still odd, the name thing. I mean, if he was going about as Jacob, I'm not sure I would blame the man, not if it was between that and Archibald, though some men seem to like it. Or go by Archie. I don't know. Maybe it's not so bad?”

Hardy hated Alec, and most people thought it was a great name. “Why would Mallard lie about Kennedy's name?”

“I've no idea. He said he was going to make sure the man he thought Kennedy is was still in America, and I just... I don't know. I can't think. I don't know who is lying and who's telling the truth. I feel like Keith lied, but I don't know about Mallard. He seemed genuine, but then so did Kennedy when I met him at the school. He was with Tom when he got suspended. He was the teacher that broke up the fight. I liked him. Daisy liked him. Are we all wrong about him? Again?”

Hardy grunted. He didn't want to get into that. He knew Miller doubted her judgment after her husband turned out to be a killer, and he sometimes thought she was right to, not that she had poor instincts, but her habit of looking for the best in people caused problems.

“Let's go have a chat with Kennedy.”

“I admit it's weird, but aren't you completely knackered by now? I am.”

“Last stop,” he said, since even as tired as she was, neither of them would rest until they had a decent answer to any of this.

She nodded, rising and following him to the door. He opened it up and stepped out, stopping when he saw a stranger near her desk. Hardy frowned. What was that man from the hut doing here?

“I think this may belong to you,” the man with the glasses said, forcing a smile and crossing over to hand Hardy Daisy's missing bracelet. “I found it today after I got home.”

“After your appointment?” Miller asked, frowning herself. “You went and cleaned after your appointment? After promising to answer my questions about Keith Moon as soon as possible?”

Hardy studied the other man with a new intensity. This was Kennedy? This was the teacher his daughter liked so much? The one with two names? The one who might be lying about being a teacher? He supposed the girls thought this one was pretty. Hardy didn't like this.

“I have a bit of... obsessive compulsive tendencies,” Kennedy said, shrugging a little. “When I get upset, I clean. It used to drive my wife crazy.”

“That would be the ex-wife you cheated on?” Miller folded her arms over her chest, and Kennedy's smile faltered. His face went expressionless.

“I thought you had questions about Keith Moon.”

“We do, but we'd also like to ask you a few others as well,” Hardy said, finding himself in the strange position of being the nice one. “Let's have this talk in private.”

* * *

Ellie was suspicious now. She didn't want to be, but after Kennedy didn't even acknowledge her question about the wife, she had to be. And she doubted there was a second person in the hut, if that was where Kennedy was actually staying. She'd been there when Hardy lived there. It didn't have much of any space.

Kennedy started to protest. “I don't think we have anything to discuss that can't be—no, you're right. Private is better.”

He nodded, letting Hardy lead them all into the closest interview room. Hardy gestured for him to have a seat, and he did. Hardy took the one across from him, and Ellie went around him to the last chair in the room.

Hardy didn't say anything, and Ellie let the silence stretch on for a bit before awkwardly starting out with a standard reminder. “You are entitled to legal council if you wish.”

Kennedy looked over at Miller. “And if I had done something wrong, I might want that, but so far, all that's happened is a good deed came back to bite me in the ass, once again proving that nice guys do finish last.”

“Is that what you'd have us believe? That you're a nice man?”

Kennedy looked at his hands. “Nice is a matter of definition, I suppose. I just... I guess you could say there is a precedence for doing something that seemed like the right thing or just trying to be helpful and have it become a painful lesson. Exactly what is it you think I've done? Or is this really just about Keith Moon?”

“Do you think we have other reasons to suspect you?” Hardy asked, studying him.

“If it was Keith who died, I think someone would argue that his constant habit of disrupting my class and heckling me would make me a possible suspect, but I never met his father. I don't know how he died, just that the principal thought he was being gentle by pulling Keith out of class in person. He just didn't understand that telling me to tell the kid to leave was the opposite of what he wanted.” Kennedy shook his head. “I tried to get him to go quietly, but he was always so combative—verbally, not physically—that he refused to go and left me no choice but to say his father was dead. All I knew was that, though. I'm told it'll be all around town, but I haven't heard anything yet.”

He wasn't wrong about that. Ellie knew it would be all over town soon enough, though some people did manage to avoid the talk most of the time. “You never met Keith's father?”

“No. It's only a bit into the school year, and I haven't had any meetings with any parents yet,” Kennedy said. “I only know you because I intervened with your son and him because he was in my home when I first got here. And yet I am the suspicious one.”

Hardy grunted. “What about you being known by another name?”

“I don't go by my first name, if that's what you're asking.”

“Not exactly,” Ellie said, though she wasn't surprised by his statement. She forced herself not to smile. “I'm told you're actually American. Is that true?”

Kennedy drew in a breath and let it out. “It's not... untrue.”

“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”

“My mother was American. My father was English. I have dual citizenship,” Kennedy explained. “And last I knew, that was not a crime.”

Hardy gave her a look. She tried not to shrug. She didn't really have a response to that. Kennedy was right, there was nothing illegal about it, and it did even possibly explain why Mallard thought he recognized him.

“You have any siblings?”

“Not unless you count someone I consider like a brother who isn't related by blood,” Kennedy said, and she thought he was almost enjoying his word games. That seemed to be his comfort zone, didn't it?

“Did you ever live in America for any extended period of time?”

“I have lived in both countries in the past. I'd like to know what it is you think I've done,” Kennedy said. “Do you actually think I killed Keith's father? I admit I don't have much of an alibi for any of... well, the last week. I go home, I grade papers. My life is boring.”

“You never have any chats with the ex-wife?”

Kennedy looked at his hands. “She wants nothing to do with me, and I respect her wishes. I haven't made contact with her since she decided to file. The divorce was... quiet. She got what she wanted. I didn't.”

“Hard to imagine you'd deserve any of what you got if you cheated on her,” Ellie said, and Kennedy glared at her.

“What right do you have to judge any of that? You have no idea what went wrong in my marriage, so don't you start in on me or her or what either of us deserved,” Kennedy said, showing some real feeling there. “And it's not like my marriage has any relevance to this. You wanted to know about one of my students. I've told you. You can leave my marriage out of it.”

“And if the allegation was that you lied so you could prey on our children?”

Kennedy stared at them. “Are you kidding me? That's what you think I did? What, to Keith? And, what, I supposedly killed his father because he tried to stop it? No. I hated that kid. I can't deny that, but I almost always had a way of turning his crap against him and letting it go. The class would laugh, we moved on, and that was it. I am not interested in children.”

“We only have your word for that, which is looking a little shaky considering that Kennedy is not your real name.”

Kennedy shook his head. “And this source of yours, do you trust it?”

“A sight more than you at the moment. You've been dodging too many questions and overreacting to others,” Hardy told him. “We could start at the beginning. Give us your name.”

“You have the only one I'm going to give you.”

“And who is Jacob?” Ellie asked. She saw him stiffen even though he tried not to react. “That is what he called you, and you did react to it then and now. Is it your name?”

“Not the one I was born with.”

“You're still avoiding the questions.”

“And I can continue to do that for the rest of the time you can hold me without charging me,” Kennedy said. “Because I didn't do anything, and time will prove that. I'll wait if I have to, but as you both know you have nothing to hold me on, I don't think I will.”

“You're sure of that, are you?”

Kennedy nodded. “Yes. One because I am innocent. Two, because I went to school to become a lawyer. I know my rights here, and you can't intimidate me into saying more.”

Hardy swore as he rose, leaving the room. Ellie gave Kennedy another glance and hurried after her boss, needing to know what he was thinking.

She found him leaning against the wall outside the room. “He's not wrong.”

“Then why block us? Why not just answer the damned question? If he's as innocent as he says, why lie to us? Why do this dance with words and not say what he actually means?” Hardy groaned, closing his eyes. “Why does everyone think they have to lie? It's like bloody Mark Latimer all over again, wasting all that time. Or Jack Marshall. If he'd admitted to any of that before...”

“Maybe Kennedy feels whatever he has to hide is worth hiding no matter what we think of him,” Ellie said. She looked back at the door, still not sure what that could be.

“I think we need to have another chat with Doctor Mallard.”

Ellie winced. So much for their last stop.

* * *

“Far as we know, he's still here,” Jethro said, sounding annoyed and suspicious. “Why?”

“I thought I saw someone who looked like him,” Ducky said. “It was admittedly a disconcerting experience, this far removed from anywhere I would have thought to encounter him, and while I know we've all been a bit in dread of having to use him as liaison, that has not happened since their divorce. He has been very quiet since their split.”

“Duck,” Jethro said, his tone a bit of a warning. “You think he's been too quiet?”

“I don't know what to think. I just wanted to know if it was possible he was here,” Ducky admitted. “I suppose I could have asked Abigail or Timothy, but I did think you were already monitoring him to a degree, seeing as our teammate was not the only one harmed by his actions. He was supposedly your friend as well.”

Jethro grunted. “Don't know as I'd say that. Do know I didn't see it. Still pisses me off, but as far as I've seen, he's here. That car of his is, seen it at the racquetball court more than once.”

“Very well. Perhaps it was just a mistake. After all, this one did have an Oxford accent,” Ducky said. “I'll let you go for now. I think Nicholas is getting restless. Night, Jethro.”

“Duck—”

He hung up before his friend could finish. He didn't want to get into that now, not when the situation was complicated, and he couldn't be sure that he had actually seen Jakob.

He heard a knock and frowned, going toward the door and opening it to Miller and her grumpy companion. “Oh, dear. Has something else happened?”

“Not yet.”

Miller gave Hardy a look before addressing Ducky. “We'd actually like to ask you a bit more about the man you thought Kennedy was. What can you tell us about him?”

“A few things. Most of us were not as close to him as Elanor was, though he was supposedly quite friendly with Jethro for a time,” Ducky said. “I'm not sure any of it has any real meaning or bearing on your investigation.”

“Kennedy was less than cooperative on this subject,” Miller said, grimacing. “It might help to know a bit more about the man you knew to understand why he would be here under false pretenses. Are you sure he wasn't involved in something criminal?”

“Criminal? Well, that's...” Ducky saw their look and cut himself off before he could make things worse with a tangent. “I suppose there is always Anthony's pet theories.”

“What?” Hardy asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “Who the hell is—No, don't tell me. Just get to the damned point.”

“As we were not close to Elanor's husband, and she actually worked with us for more than a year before we met him, Anthony was prone to put forth more than one theory about his absence. One involved him not existing at all. That was disproved. However, the other was not, at least not to anyone's full satisfaction.”

“And that is?”

“There were rumors, of course, and quite expected, given his place of employment, that Jakob was, in fact, a spy.”


	9. Circling Around Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explanations in circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is still pretty case heavy, with a side of distraction, but it's all important, I think. There's still a lot to go through and a lot to get in, perhaps too much, but this is a start, and it should explain a bit more, too, though with that whole "leaving things open" thing, too.
> 
> Oh, and as to the Jacob/Jakob thing... Ducky does call people by their full names as sort of a sign of affection, and while he's not that friendly now with the Jakob he knows, he was once. Still, there's no proof the full name was with the "k" but I liked that other take on it (another author did it first) so I used that but Jacob is more common so people other than Ducky would likely think to spell it that way, and I did the spelling based on whose scene it was. Sorry if that was at all confusing or irritating.

* * *

Bloody hell. He was done. Hardy was just _done._

He didn't know why everyone seemed to feel the need to waste his time like this, but he wanted to find a killer, not chase pointless theories and other insanity. He didn't see Kennedy as a spy. Liar, yes, he was definitely that, since he wasn't telling the truth about his name or why he was in Broadchurch, but if that allergic arsehole was a spy, Hardy was a bloody cat lover.

“Let's go, Miller.”

She shook herself out of the fog she'd gone into with the word spy and managed to frown at Hardy. “We're not done yet.”

“Oh, yes, we are. I don't know why anyone thinks this would be amusing or any sort of a good idea, but it isn't. We don't have time to waste, and this bit of insanity isn't even a decent distraction. Kennedy isn't a convincing teacher. You want him to be a spy? Oh, aye, the man's lying, but this one has to be, too, because this is not about spies. It's about a man who was murdered, and when someone lies to me and wastes the time I should be spending looking for his killer with some sort of prank about spies, I get angry. I get _very_ angry.”

“Understandably so,” Mallard said in a calm voice, like he was used to this sort of reaction, “and I believe your sentiments were echoed by most of my colleagues. Anthony was the only one who gave the theory much credit, and then it was largely because he was a bit an overgrown child with an active imagination and defense mechanism that wanted life to be more like fiction. I think it is because real life disappointed him too many times, and whether he admits it or not, he's a rather damaged man in his own way. That said, there were irregularities in Jakob's behavior that were part of the basis for this theory, and as I told DS Miller, Jakob did have an affair that no one saw coming, not even a former marine with a gut instinct that is almost evidence in of itself. He had a great many people fooled in that respect.”

Hardy grunted. “That's still not—”

“Elanor, of course, would be the first to remind any of us that just being part of the NSA did not mean that a person was a spy. She herself was an analyst, not a spy, though the assumption was made several times in her case as well as her husband's.”

Hardy rubbed his head. It ached, and he wanted a drink, the kind he hadn't had since his heart started getting bad. “This is—”

“He was with the National Sheep Association?” Miller blurted out, sounding confused.

“You really are a rural DS,” Hardy muttered, and she gave him two fingers for that.

“I'm tired, you grumpy bastard, and that's what kept going through my head, spies or no spies,” she said, looking like she might hit him. “If you had to deal with them like I did, you'd make the same connection.”

“There are many organizations that use the designation 'NSA,'” Mallard agreed. “At least half a dozen in the US alone. I am, of course, more used to dealing with the one that means National Security Agency, but I should never assume everyone else is.”

“It still seems stupid, even to me,” Miller grumbled. “I just... Like I said, I'm tired. And we get more sheep poaching cases than we do murders around here—or we did.”

“Broadchurch was suggested as a possible destination for that reason,” Mallard said. “Crime rate was low, therefore unlikely to upset my brother or be any additional risk to him. I factored that into my decision to come. I never expected to see Jakob here, and it is quite possible that he isn't. I did call my team, and as far as they know, Jakob is still in Washington DC.”

Hardy studied the older man. “You're certain he isn't, though. You believe he's here, don't you?”

Mallard nodded. “I may be older, but I haven't forgotten what he looked like. I know he doesn't sound the same—the Oxford seems quite almost genuine—but I still believe it's him. It is strange, but I find a great many things in life happen for a reason. Jethro hates coincidence, but not everything that seems coincidental is an accident, either.”

“You want this to be a conspiracy?”

“I didn't say that, but it is possible there was a reason why I encountered Jakob again, one none of us are aware of,” Mallard answered. “I came here to set things right with my brother, but perhaps that was not the only thing that needed to be addressed.”

“You have an issue with Kennedy that needs to be set right?”

“Me, personally? No. As I said, the damage there was done mostly to Elanor, though we had all started to let him into our group, which is like family. He was very nearly a part of that when he betrayed her and by extension, all of us.”

“He was definitely an American when you knew him?” Miller asked. “He never once mentioned having dual citizenship?”

“No, but then our conversations never broached that subject. I suppose I made assumptions.”

“What about obsessive compulsive cleaning habits?”

“Oh, now that I do believe I heard a tale or two about, at least in Jakob's case,” Mallard said. “Elanor has a method of working that is a bit like... controlled chaos. Her husband was a great deal more... fastidious. At one time, they had a rather large row because he'd color coordinated her sock drawer, alphabetized her files, and cleaned out her snack drawer in the same day. She said the stress of the audit got to him, but she was rather frustrated with him... though I thought at the time it had more to deal with him being unable to discuss much of what was going on due to the differences in their clearance levels.”

Hardy gave Miller a look. That wasn't proof either of the men was telling the truth about any of this. They wouldn't have that without something else, and while he'd given Dirty Brian the bracelet to use as a source of elimination, wanting to be sure none of Kennedy's DNA was at the crime scene, it might not be enough of an answer.

Damn this idea of spies. If Kennedy was one—and he wasn't—then he'd be able to fake the papers and everything he'd need to get the job at the school.

Why would a spy want to be at that school, though?

“You said he wasn't a spy,” Miller said, twisting her lip a bit as she thought aloud. “What did he do for a living then? He wasn't a teacher?”

“Oh, no,” Mallard said. “He was a lawyer, and as I understand it, one of the agency's best.”

* * *

“I think we should try this again.”

“If by trying this again, you mean that you're going to release me without me having to file a legal action, I think we can both agree to that,” Kennedy said, and Ellie tried not to wince. Even a few hours of sleep didn't make this any easier, and if either of them had any illusions about him cooperating with them or softening up after hours at the station, they would have been disappointed.

“Look, I don't care if you go by Archie, Archibald, or Ferdinand,” Hardy said. “What I care about is whether or not you were at all connected to this murder. I've got it on record by more than one witness that you have a problem with Keith Moon. I've got someone else ready to testify you're here under a false name. That you're employed with kids with a fake name. And I've got this sense, you know, good sense, copper's sense, that tells me you're lying about something. I don't want to waste my time on you, but you're now an issue in my investigation. I can't move away from you without a damned good reason why, and I'm not even saying that because of the micromanaging arsehole in the office down the hall.”

Kennedy nodded. “I understand why you're doing this. It doesn't make me like it any more than I did before, and it doesn't mean that I'm going to change my mind about what I've said. I told the truth—I am not here because I have an unnatural interest in kids. I'm not a pedophile. If you want me to admit on record that I'm still pathetically hung up on my ex-wife, I will. I hate admitting it, but it's true. She was the love of my life, and I lost her because I was an idiot. And that's all I want to say about my marriage. So... what else... Well...”

“What appointment did you have yesterday that made you run off from me and Doctor Mallard?” Ellie asked, watching him. Kennedy swallowed, still uncomfortable. “There wasn't one, was there?”

“No, there was.” He closed his eyes. “I'm obligated to have a weekly communication with someone. It's not... criminal. It's not even medical. I don't have to tell you who it was with or what we discussed. That is private, and as it was after your murder happened—”

“Could have been discussing something with your accomplice.”

Kennedy snorted. “Oh, yes. That's what I did when I excused myself from a conversation that has apparently condemned me. Right. I called my accomplice and told him to dance on the grave. No, I didn't call an accomplice. I spent an hour on the phone with a man I hate trying to convince him that something had to change and got ignored. Again. As usual. Then I... I lost my temper, knocked a few things around at the rental, and had to clean up, which lead to me finding the bracelet the DI over there said his daughter—no, it was the cat, wasn't it? The cat lost the bracelet. Anyway, all he told me to do with it was bring it to the station, so I did. That was my real mistake. I came here trying to return a girl's bracelet. Now I'm a suspect in a murder.”

“Or a spy.”

Kennedy stared at Miller. “What?”

“You were with the NSA, weren't you?”

“The National Sheep Association?”

“That is so not funny,” Ellie muttered, shaking her head. If Hardy laughed, she'd smack him. “You know what I mean. The National Security Agency. The American one. The one who listens to everything and everyone if the news is to be believed.”

“I realize you are trying to intimidate me with the murder charges, but if I was working for the NSA and somehow here as some kind of spy or involved in any kind of covert activity, there is no way I'd admit it. Even with an allied country, admitting to espionage is like signing a death warrant.”

“There isn't a death penalty here.”

“Treason was still a death penalty offense until 1998, and some would argue that foreign operatives working within your borders for any reason could be considered an attempt to 'move or stir any foreigner or stranger with force to invade the United Kingdom,'” Kennedy said. “And I'm not sure where dual citizenship falls in that category, never researched it much, but I'd rather not take the chance all the same.”

“God, you are a bloody lawyer,” Ellie said, and Kennedy almost seemed amused. “That is something we did have confirmed for us. You were a lawyer for the NSA. Now you're a teacher. That doesn't fit, does it? Not unless the spy thing gets thrown in there.”

“Actually, there are dozens of valid reasons for giving up a law degree despite the cost of earning that degree in both money and time,” Kennedy said. “I could offer one that fits my current situation that is very understandable. You've pushed enough about my marriage, and I've admitted more than once that it failed, badly, and the fault is... mainly mine. All mine. It... I think she wanted out before she said it was over, but that's not really an excuse. Still... plenty of people move and change when their marriages end. I could very well have chosen to change professions and make a clean start if I wanted to after that disaster.”

“Including a new name, new accent, and very likely forged identification?” Hardy asked, giving Kennedy a hard look. “Should we ask you how you passed the background checks?”

“Security in your school is not what it should be?” Kennedy offered. He shrugged. “I don't know. If my credentials were fake, they should have been caught. Obviously, they weren't. I think it's time you drop this and let me go. You don't have that long before you have to do it anyway, legalities and all.”

“What about Keith Moon?”

Kennedy turned to Ellie. “What about him? What more are you wanting me to say? Besides the obvious, of course. I'm not going to confess to the murder—I didn't do it. And I'm not going to lie and say I liked him. I didn't. I didn't ever meet his father. I've never interacted with Keith outside of class, and I didn't want to. The kid was a jerk.”

Hardy nodded. “When you heard his father was dead, what did you think had happened?”

“I...” Kennedy stopped, trying to compose himself again. That question had thrown him, and that was not at all what Ellie expected, but Hardy might have, since he asked it.

“Go on. And you may as well say the truth, no attempts to dance around the subject or give a half-answer. You've already incriminated yourself with that one.”

Kennedy sighed. “I... I wondered if there was any way Keith was responsible for his father's death.”

“Even though you didn't know what happened, that was your first instinct?” Hardy pressed. “You thought Keith had something to do with it? What, because he heckled you?”

“No. Keith... He had an obvious problem with authority, but even that...” Kennedy swallowed. “I don't know. There was something about him, from the beginning, that was... unsettling. I tried to ignore it, told myself I was just nervous and he was heckling me, and so it bothered me. He bothered me. I was trying not to... trying to ignore it.”

“You didn't mention that before.”

Kennedy grimaced. “I don't have... proof. I don't even have anything more than he gave off a slightly creepy vibe. No one liked him much, but if I polled my class, they probably wouldn't name him a killer, either. It's not like he was... obvious about it.”

Ellie almost snorted. He had been when she and Hardy spoke to him.

“Do you think Keith is smart enough to have killed his father and believed he would get away with it?”

Kennedy gave a slow, reluctant nod. “Yes. His answers to my assignments were always scathing pieces filled with unpleasant phrases about me and my methods of teachings, but they were actually within the bounds of the assignment and even veiled in some cases where someone else might not have seen them as personal attacks like I did. Though... I'd say my impression of him thinking he could get away with it was more based on his attitude, since he did think he got away with everything and not just in my class. It was like he'd never felt a day of consequences in his life and he still thought he'd never have to face them in the future.”

“Because his father was dead?”

Kennedy shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe. Do... do you have to look at the papers he turned in? Because the things he said... I'd rather they weren't public record as part of the investigation.”

“We'll do what we can,” Ellie told him, knowing that Hardy was going to insist on seeing those papers as soon as they left the room.

* * *

“Yes, we have the kid's computer,” Dirty Brian said. “We haven't had a chance to go through it yet, busy as we are with two crime scenes and a lot of bloody sand to sort through, again, plus that bracelet you wanted tested and—”

“The computer needs to be a priority,” Hardy interrupted, not wanting to hear about the rest. No, he did, but he wanted results, not whiny excuses for why nothing was done. Brian just looked at him. “The motive for the killing might be there. Kid may have been threatening his teacher, too, and I want to know what those papers said. According to the teacher, the kid crumpled them up and threw them away when they were returned, so we need what's on the computer to see if anyone in this damned case is telling the truth. Priority—computer. We'll deal with the rest after that.”

Brian nodded, clearly displeased, but Hardy stood by his decision. If Keith Moon had cleaned his house thoroughly after killing his father, then there wouldn't be much to find. They would have to get anything and everything they could from the computer, anything that would speak to the relationship Keith had with his father.

“Thank you, Brian,” Miller said, giving him a smile, and Hardy thought about reminding her what prompted that whole 'Dirty Brian' comment in the first place, but he didn't.

“We need more,” Hardy said as he walked away, needing a purpose again. He didn't want to go back to chasing dead ends like spies and other stupid liars, but they didn't have much from the neighbors, the kid had no friends, and they didn't have any new direction yet. They had the teacher's assessment of the kid—if he wasn't a spy, since he was lying—and it wasn't good, but was that just about him covering his own arse, or was he telling the truth about that part?

“It's all going to take time,” she reminded him. “We are still just at the beginning of this, and we have to wait on a lot of tests yet. We may have something with the computer, but again, time. We've still got CCTV to search through, since we still can't pin down when Moon was last seen. Oh, but I did have a thought, and I lost it in all the talk of spies and—”

“Miller,” Hardy warned, having no patience for that starting back up again. “What do you have, and is at all relevant?”

“The wreckage that turned up a few days back, before the body,” she said. “What if that wasn't just junk and debris like you thought? What if it ties to Moon's death somehow?”

“Oh, yes, another thing that forensics can drag their bloody feet on. We need something we can actually do something about ourselves, and do not say the CCTV.”

She sighed. “You won't like this, but I _do_ have another idea.”

“What now?”

“We go talk to your daughter.”

* * *

He curled up against the wall, leaning his head against it and telling himself he was fine. He knew he wasn't, knew he couldn't stay calm here, not here, not when it reminded him of too many bad places, not when the nightmares had been bad for as long as they had been, but he knew he had to try.

He had done what he could. He had to remember that.

They would go for the computer now. That might be enough. It might be just what they needed to stop it all from happening again. He hadn't been able to fix it, but maybe they could.

If they had the computer.

If they didn't... they might never know the truth.


	10. Elaboration and Evasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pattern emerges and identity continues to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had written most of a chapter yesterday, and I was very close to having it done and posting it when I stopped and admitted it didn't work. I wanted to do it because I wanted to explain and I wanted to defend, but the thing was, it was too soon, and it had to change. So I reworked it, and it fought me again the second time. Then I went to post it and had to add back in something from what I wrote before because it didn't make sense without it.
> 
> I have got to stop doing such convoluted plots.

* * *

“How long have you gone to school with Keith Moon, Chloe?”

She thought about that. She wasn't sure she could remember when he wasn't in one of her classes, irritating as he was. She'd never liked him, not since they were little, and one thing she'd looked forward to in finishing school was going far from him.

“A long time. Can't remember when I didn't,” she answered, looking at Ellie and then Daisy's father, feeling a bit strange. “Did something happen to Keith, too? We all know he got pulled from class. Mr. Kennedy tried to be nice about it, but Keith was a knob so he ended up telling all of us that Keith's dad was dead. And then everyone tried to ask him about Keith's dad after Keith left, so we didn't get much else done in class because no matter how many times he told us he didn't know anything and even if he did wouldn't tell us, no one listened.”

“Nothing's happened to Keith yet,” Ellie said. “We just have a few more questions about what Keith was like the last few days.”

“More of a prat than usual,” Chloe said, and Daisy nodded. “If anything, he got worse with what he was saying to Kennedy in class, and while Kennedy was always pretty laid back about it, at least once it got to him.”

“In what way?”

Daisy folded her arms over her chest, glaring at her father. “You think Mr. Kennedy did this? What is wrong with you? Why do you always suspect everyone? Kennedy is nice, one of the best teachers I've ever had, and now you're saying he's a killer? You just don't like him because I wanted to change my focus for A-levels.”

Hardy ran a hand over his face, muttering to himself. Ellie grimaced. 

“I'm afraid Mr. Kennedy has not been as helpful in this investigation as he should have been, and he has lied to us, though we haven't been able to get him to admit the truth or why he's lying.”

Daisy shook her head. “And, what, you think because he didn't get on with Keith and he pushed the wrong one of Dad's buttons he's a killer?”

“I actually don't think he killed anyone,” Ellie said, and Hardy gave her a stern look. “I liked him when I first met him. I'm a bit angry with him now, because he is lying, he isn't cooperating, and he plays those damned word games too much.”

“He gave us an assignment on truth and perception,” Daisy said. “Like in that movie, Dad. How our truths depend on our point of view. It was still true, just more true to us than it was to someone else.”

Hardy shook his head. “This isn't a classroom. This is a murder investigation, and he's not helping himself by what he's doing, even if that is true from his point of view.”

“The day you said Keith 'got to him.' What day was that?”

Chloe grimaced. “Well, there were actually a couple, if you count the day he told us about how his marriage went wrong. Keith was mocking the assignment on miscommunication after Kennedy clarified why he was having us do it, and so Kennedy told us what happened with his wife, how they stopped being able to talk to each other, and then... He said he let her believe something of him that wasn't true, and she left him. He was really upset that day, barely spoke after giving us the assignment.”

“Because you asked him if he still loved her,” Daisy said. “It was almost as much your fault as Keith's.”

Chloe winced. “Yeah, it was, but the other one was all Keith. He kept going on about how Kennedy's glasses had to be fake, that he was using them too look smarter teaching English courses, and that he didn't have any problem seeing at all. He even went after them that day, when Kennedy was collecting papers. Kennedy almost fell over a desk trying to get away from him.”

“He let us out early that day,” Daisy said. “He'd dropped the papers and he just sort of... sat down to collect them and told us to go. Keith was laughing, but he was the only one. It wasn't funny.”

“Was that the only physical incident you saw?”

Daisy nodded. “We weren't in all the same classes at first, so we could have missed something, but in the ones we were in, that was it. It was all words other than him going for the glasses. There was another class where Kennedy actually did leave his glasses off for a bit and stumbled about until he went back to his desk for them.”

“Keith snickered the entire time,” Chloe added, shaking her head again, still annoyed by Keith's behavior. It wasn't funny. “Kennedy did seem pretty much blind without the glasses.”

Daisy turned to her father. “Wait. You don't think Kennedy did it at all. You think Keith did. You think he killed his own father.”

Chloe stared at her. She swallowed, turning back to DI Hardy. “Is that true?”

“I can't discuss—”

“He seemed like a bit of a bully, but a killer?” Daisy asked. “Chloe, would you have believed that Keith did it?”

Chloe could only shrug. “After Joe Miller killed my brother, I don't put it past anyone.”

* * *

Ellie stopped outside the house to compose herself. Chloe's words still stung, still reminded her of every mistake she'd made in trusting Joe. Guiltily, she remembered that she still needed to talk to Tom. She and Tom hadn't been in the same room much since he got suspended, and she knew he was still mad at her. She didn't know how to reach him. She hadn't gotten much right since the trial, but she kept trying. She just wished Tom understood that fighting back was giving them what they wanted. It wasn't easy not to get involved, she wanted to, wanted to cry or scream or shout from the rooftops that she'd had no idea what Joe had done, that she was more betrayed and hurt by it than anyone ever understood. The man she loved, the man she'd had children with, he was a monster, and she'd lived with him without ever knowing it.

That still made her sick.

And this case wasn't helping. She still didn't know how they were going to prove that Keith did kill his father or get anyone to tell them the truth of what was going on. If they could at least eliminate the Kennedy angle of things, that would be a start, but she didn't know what would make him open up or even why he thought he had to hide anything.

“I think we'll have to see what Keith is willing to tell us about his interactions with Kennedy,” Ellie began, looking over at Hardy. “There's a chance he might tell us more if he thinks we suspect his teacher.”

“Aye, but what does it gain us?” Hardy asked. “Keith knows we suspect him of killing his father, and he might want us to focus on someone else. I'm not giving that bastard what he wants, and we've wasted enough time on Kennedy.”

“Then why haven't you let him go?”

“He's still lying,” Hardy said. “And I don't know that he has as little to do with this as he claims. There's something there, but I don't know what it is. He ties to this. I don't know what they are, but somehow he's right in the middle of this.”

“Are you saying that because of what Doctor Mallard told us or because he was the one to find Daisy's bracelet and not you?”

Hardy gave her a look. “It's got nothing to do with that. Why, of all the reasons we have to think he's up to something, would you pick that? We've got him here under a false name, he hasn't answered one of questions without some kind of double talk, and he knows our suspect. Their behavior toward each other could be a cover. Remember Claire?”

“Of course I do,” Ellie said. She would never forget Claire, and she would like to sometimes, especially that one disastrous night they'd spent at the bar and those men. Ellie did regret that, and she wished she could erase that memory from her mind forever. “I figured I was on to her long before you were. You acted like you actually believed her.”

He snorted. “You should know better than that, Miller.”

Ellie thought she did, but sometimes Hardy still surprised her. He did have a gentler side. She'd seen it, not just with Daisy but more so with her than anyone else, and even when he grumbled at her cat, Ellie swore he was doing it with affection. “Do you want to go see Keith again? He might change his story.”

Hardy took a breath, leaning against the car. “If Keith is smart, he'll have his story perfected by now. All the gaps, all the things we asked about before—he'll be clear. The last day he saw his father, what they did, what they said, he'll have that all scripted. He'll tell us he hadn't seen him since Monday—he'll stick to that now that we called him on it—and he will have an explanation for the house. He paid someone to do it or he made a giant mess and knew his dad would be angry when he got back or something that covers it. He will have all the answers for us, and we don't have any way of shaking them.”

“You don't know that. We can't be sure that Keith did kill his father or that he won't admit to it. He's not a practiced killer.”

“He's a sociopath. He doesn't have to be,” Hardy said. “He hasn't run yet because he thinks we can't touch him, but what makes him so damned confident about that?”

“Again, you're assuming a lot. We haven't even talked to him a second time. We haven't asked him about any of this, and while I know you're good at what you do and have the experience back most of these assumptions, everyone else is going to need a lot more than that.”

“And we'll get it. What do you keep telling me? We have to wait. Have to get the forensics. They're still coming.”

That wasn't his usual reaction to that, but she let it go. She wasn't in the mood to fight him, and she didn't want to talk to Keith any more than he did. She just wasn't sure where they were going to take this since they were still lacking physical evidence and good sources for information on anyone involved in the case.

“Fine. What is our next step?”

Hardy started to answer, stopped, and dug his phone out of his pocket. “Oh, now that's just beautiful. Bloody fantastic.”

“Sir?”

“Dirty Brian found something for us.”

* * *

“Let's try this one more time,” Hardy began, setting the folder on the table before taking his seat. “We're all tired, we all want this done, and I've had about all of you I can stand. At the moment, I think I like you less than a sociopath, and that is never a good thing.”

“I imagine any sort of parent teacher conference would be very unpleasant,” Kennedy said, and Hardy glared at him. “That said, I do think we all agree that we want this to be done, so ask your questions.”

“You want this done, you're going to have to be honest,” Hardy warned him. “So far your track record with that has been shite. And don't start on what you told my daughter about different points of view.”

Kennedy almost smiled. “I have always thought that was one of the truest quotes I've ever heard, even if it was about a betrayal.”

Hardy ignored that. He wasn't playing Kennedy's game this time. “Was Keith Moon ever abusive in your class?”

“Verbally combative, yes. Never physical. I said that before.”

“What about the time he tried to take your glasses and you fell over a desk?” Miller asked. “Because that doesn't fit with what you told us about him.”

Kennedy rubbed his forehead. “I... I overreacted. He went for my glasses, and I jumped away from him. It was... a minor panic attack, and yes, I had to send the class out while I composed myself again, but it wasn't even... Keith didn't do that. I did.”

“That have anything to do with your past?”

Kennedy studied him. “I'm torn between reminding you that you don't know my past and knowing how that's going to sound, but it's true. You have very little information on my past, and that question was not nearly specific enough.”

“I know more than you think. Or did you really believe that having a different name made everything else disappear?”

“It depends on what happens with the name change,” Kennedy said. “And why it was issued. Witness protection, adoption, fake identification, cover identities... There are many reasons why names change, and some can and do wipe slates clean, for good reason. Some... not so much.”

“We're talking about you, though. This isn't theoretical. This is you. This is you having three different names. It's not a record, but it's pretty damned suspicious.” Hardy opened the folder, flipping through the pages. “Now, I haven't met many people who have a good, legitimate reason for having three names. Most of the ones I know are criminals. Is that what you are?”

Kennedy shook his head. “Any average person has three names: first, middle, and last. Others have more than that. It's not that unusual.”

“You have one last chance to tell me which of them is the right one,” Hardy told him. “Because I'm done with the games and the lies. I will make this stay of yours permanent.”

“I still haven't done anything wrong,” Kennedy insisted. “You're fishing. That's all this is, and I've tried being patient, but I'm the one that's done. If you want to have any other conversations with me, you will have to speak to my attorney.”

“I thought that was you,” Miller said, and he gave her a look. “Just what is your degree in, anyway? Or do you have one?”

“I have more than one, actually.”

“And which name did you get those degrees under?”

Kennedy sighed. “What does that have to do with anything? You're investigating a murder, not my educational background.”

Hardy snorted. “You keep saying you know your legal rights. You know why we're looking at you. You know you've been uncooperative. Perverting the course of justice. That's what you've been doing, and don't bother trying to dodge that one. You know it. I know it. Miller knows it. What we don't know is why. If you're as innocent as you claim, why won't you tell us the truth? Why is it so hard to tell us the truth?”

Kennedy shook his head. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Probably not,” Hardy agreed, because he didn't think he would, even if he had all of this one's reasons. He doubted they made sense to anyone but him. “Though I'm guessing it has something to do with you having the same fingerprints as a man who went missing over ten years ago.”

Kennedy tensed. “What are you talking about? That's not... not possible.”

“Oh, I think it is,” Hardy said, taking the report out and passing it to him. “You haven't changed all that much since you were fresh out of university, have you?”

Kennedy touched the paper, pulling it close and reading it over, even taking off his glasses, cleaning them, and checking the text again as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. He put a hand to his head. “This shouldn't be—this isn't—”

“You said you didn't go by your first name, and Jacob isn't the one you were born with,” Hardy said. “That would seem to be true, seeing as your name here is a lot different from both of them.”

Kennedy swallowed. “How did you find this?”

“We have a good forensics team,” Miller said, and Hardy held back his opinion of that statement. “They matched your fingerprints to the report. We could always put in for a DNA test if you think that's necessary. You want to deny this one, too?”

Kennedy shuddered. “If you know, he knows. Damn it.”

“What are you talking about?” Hardy asked, not sure where this was coming from. They'd gotten a few slips from Kennedy before, when he spoke about his wife and a couple other things, but not to this degree. He almost sounded... scared. “Who is this 'he' and why does he scare you so much?”

“No.”

“That is not an answer,” Hardy said, getting frustrated. Why the hell wouldn't the man tell the truth? Why did they always lie?

“If you're worried, if you're scared that the man who abducted you will come for you again, then we can do something about that,” Miller said, trying to be gentle. “You do have to tell us about him, though, so we can help you.”

“No one abducted me. There shouldn't be a missing persons report. I shouldn't match it. None of that can exist. I—I'm leaving. This isn't—”

“You're not going anywhere,” Hardy said. He'd be damned if he let that happen. “If there is any kind of explanation for this, you need to give it to us now, because otherwise it is looking very bad for you. Like maybe you didn't go missing ten years ago, but you wanted people to think you did. Who did you hurt that you had to change your name and move away? Is that why you hid for years in America? And why did you come back? To do it again?”

“No.”

“No to what, exactly?” Hardy demanded. “I've got too many questions. You haven't answered a damned one of them. You can, now. Clear it up, and very likely we can all go home afterward. Tell us the truth. Make this all end.”

“I can't.”

“If you're scared, we can help,” Miller told him, looking like she wanted to reach out and comfort the bastard. “You have to let us. If you tell us what happened, we can do something about it. Even if you did commit a crime, there may still be a way we can help, but you have to tell us.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“That is getting less believable by the minute,” Hardy said. “If you didn't, why can't you just tell us? Why didn't you mention any of this before? If you have a legitimate reason to hide from someone, just say it. Tell us.”

“It doesn't matter. It's already too late.”


	11. Partial Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breakthrough and a breakdown happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... Admittedly nervous about this, but it may make a lot more make sense. Maybe. Or it's one of those things that only works in my very disturbed brain.

* * *

He hit the wall. There was nowhere to go. No way out. There never was.

He was trapped. Again. As always.

He had thought he was free once. He'd been wrong.

He was always wrong.

* * *

“The hell do you mean by that?” Hardy asked, and Kennedy flinched. Miller gave him a look, and Hardy ignored it. He wasn't going to make this easier on a man who had lied to them and wasted as much of their time as this one had. One truth, that was all he'd asked for, and the man still wouldn't give it. Hardy had dealt with pathological liars that were more honest.

Kennedy lowered his head. “You're going to want to know everything.”

“I wouldn't have to know everything if you'd tell me what I'd actually asked, damn it,” Hardy said. “What is it that makes it so bloody impossible for you to answer any question directly?”

“Practice, national security, and fear.”

Hardy snorted. “You've seemed too damned calm up until now, playing these annoying word games with us. Hard to believe you're afraid now.”

“If you have spent a lifetime learning how not to show fear, you should be good at it,” Kennedy said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them again. Must have been a nervous habit. Or he wanted it to look like one. “I'm not. I should be, but I'm not. I'm only confident when I can play the word games. It's a defense mechanism. Half the people will stop listening after the first few, decide you're not worth bothering with.”

“We're not that half,” Miller told him. “We can't afford to be.”

Hardy reached for the paper he'd given Kennedy earlier, wanting to push the details and see what he got when he did. He'd start with using the other name. That was effective, and he still had to have a lot more answers than this.

Kennedy jumped back when Hardy moved, dropping his glasses and knocking over the chair over as he did. He swore, and Hardy stood, leaning over the table to see him holding the broken frame in his hands. “Not again.”

Hardy stared at him. “Did you honestly think I was going to hurt you when I went for that paper? Or was that part of your act? Fake a panic attack, make it look like you're the victim, and then you go free? See, I'm not so sure it works that way. Man jumping at shadows in a police station, that's not exactly a picture of innocence, is it?”

“It wasn't the shadows,” Kennedy said, though with a lot less confidence than his usual word games. “It was you. And I don't know that I can convince you that the reaction was real, but if I was going to fake it, I sure as hell wouldn't have broken the only good pair of these I had. Damn it.”

He put a hand to his head. “Do we have to do this now? I need air.”

“You really think after all this, we'd run the risk of taking you outside? What's next, you jump off the bloody balcony?” Hardy shook his head. “Just answer the questions so we can all go.”

“I... I can try, but I'm only going to get worse if we have to stay in here,” Kennedy told him. “I... I suppose you could say I don't like being locked in small spaces.” 

Hardy didn't bother pointing out that the door wasn't even locked right now. “You have a lot of experience with that, do you?”

Kennedy tensed, shuddering, and he started counting under his breath, reminding Hardy of his own exercises for calming his heart. If he was faking the panic, he was damned dedicated to doing it, not that Hardy would have expected anything less of someone going this route.

“Oh, god, you do,” Miller said, sounding horrified as she watched this little display from Kennedy. She bought the act, which could be a problem. “What... why would you—that's not from being a spy. Can't be. Why would a spy come here? No, it's something else. Isn't it?”

Kennedy sighed, his eyes down on his hands and his voice subdued, accent even a little muddled, though his mumbling didn't help any with that. “Telling you it isn't relevant won't be enough, will it?”

“You've done nothing but act suspicious since you got here,” Hardy reminded him. “You can't expect us to watch something like that and not want more than your word that it's not relevant. Guilt shows itself in strange ways. Is this how you show it?”

Kennedy shook his head. “I admit guilt had something to do with why I'm here, but I did not kill Keith's father. I don't even know his name. What is his name?”

Hardy didn't answer that. “Why did you break your glasses?”

“I... panicked.”

“And why did you panic?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Aye, maybe, but you need to say it. Not just the bare facts. We all know that you were at least pretending you thought I was going to harm you, but why would you think that?”

Kennedy shivered, and Hardy had half a mind to order him away from the glass before he did anything insane. “I... If I... if I told you... if I admitted... please don't make me do this.”

“We don't have much choice. You have to tell us something to explain this before it gets a lot worse for you,” Miller told him. “You look like a suspect. You just said you had to admit something, and that has too many negative implications without an answer.” 

“My father was an abusive bastard,” Kennedy choked out, the words barely recognizable. “Can... please... let that be enough.”

“Maybe. If it's true,” Hardy said, not relishing the idea of torturing the man if any of this was real. He may have been frustrated and angry the last time they spoke, but he wasn't heartless, no matter what people thought. He was starting to think he did believe Kennedy told the truth about his father's abuse, though why the man had gone to this much trouble to conceal it was a different matter. “That what the glasses thing was about? Your father taking them from you?”

Before Kennedy could answer, Miller spoke up with a theory of her own. “He's the reason you have them, isn't he? His abuse cost you part of your eyesight.”

Kennedy didn't look at either of them. “Why is this—it's not relevant. All of that is—It's not about Keith or his father. I told you about—you don't need details.”

“No?” Hardy actually didn't think it was relevant, no, but it was infuriating all the same. This wasn't a reason to lie to them and hide behind two false names and all that double talk and word games. “No chance you became aware of Keith being abused by his father and intervened because no one intervened for you? That you somehow got caught in the middle of it, and Keith's behavior toward you in class was a cover for how much he owed you for freeing him from that?”

“I strongly suspect that if anyone was abused in the Moon home, it was the father,” Kennedy said. He wrapped his arms around himself, again repeating his numbers under his breath. He seemed just as surprised as the rest of them that his words came out coherent that time. “Since you'll ask... yes. Keith reminded me unpleasantly of my father. They had... similar tendencies. The way they spoke...”

Kennedy's father had clearly damaged him, but how far had that gone? Had he actually twisted it somehow, used it as a way to hurt Keith but the father got in the way? Or was this not connected at all? That would be more than irritating, though Hardy doubted Miller would go along with charging Kennedy, not after seeing this.

“Does your father have anything to do with why you lied about your name?” Miller asked, going around the table to approach him. “You told us he was the one who was English. This is England. Did you change your name because of him? Because you're here and he's here?”

“I would never keep anything he gave me, not by choice,” Kennedy said, and Hardy almost swore. That wasn't a bloody answer. 

And yet it was. If Hardy did read between the lines, that answer was yes. Kennedy had changed his name because of his father.

“You're still afraid of him,” Hardy said. “All this time and you're so afraid of him you've messed up an entire murder investigation because of him.”

Kennedy closed his eyes. “I told you you wouldn't understand.”

“Damn right, I don't.”

“My father has money. He has power. He has international business ties. Ways to find someone anywhere. One of them found me a few months back. First time they make me travel for work, and that happens... Like some kind of nightmare,” Kennedy said. He shook his whole body, trying to rid himself of some memory or something. “It was like all my fears realized. He... he used to tell me I'd never be free of him. A part of me still believes that. A part of me knows it's true. I've lived my entire life afraid of him finding me again.”

“You're a grown man now,” Hardy reminded him, though he barely seemed like it this go round. “Old enough to have a life of your own. Career, marriage, divorce... If we believe that friend of yours, you were even living in another country under another name.”

Kennedy lifted his head. “My father was best friends with the head of the local police.”

“That doesn't mean the man knew,” Miller said. “And we don't—”

“The servants pretended they didn't know. My mother pretended she didn't know.” Kennedy's head dropped down again. “That man... the policeman. He knew. He... didn't just look away.”

Miller winced. “You know we're not all like that. You could have told us the truth.”

“No. Not when you've already brought him down on me just by finding that fingerprint match,” Kennedy said. “He _knows._ He has to. If he left that report up, he's been waiting for this. There's a part of me that is almost convinced that this is all some impossible scheme where he somehow managed to arrange all this to draw me back to the country, to create a situation where I'd be trapped again...”

“This murder happened weeks after you were back in the country,” Hardy said, since school had been in session for a while now. “That's nothing to do with your father.”

“That depends on what brought you back to England,” Miller said, and Hardy gave her a look. “You didn't pick Broadchurch at random, did you? And it's not just because it's remote enough where you might avoid your father's notice. There's no way you took this kind of risk without a very good reason. What was it?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Bloody hell.” Hardy just about exploded. “Not again. We've already gone through this. Your father isn't going to touch you here, and he likely doesn't even know you're in England. You have to stop using that as an excuse to hide from him. You got away for ten years. He's not coming for you. Just tell us the truth.”

“No. That man... I already know my father's still looking for me. You are holding proof of that in your hand.”

Hardy glanced at the missing persons report. “This?”

“Cleverly disguised as the act of a caring parent, I'm sure, but yes, that. He filed that damned thing so that if I ever showed my face anywhere, I'd be handed back to him in an instant. You don't know what he was like,” Kennedy said, trembling. “He controlled... _everything._ I barely left the house when I was younger. He wanted me with him all the time. His favorite toy. And that was the future he had planned for me. He agreed to let me go to university because... he wanted... a good laugh. That and an excuse to keep me close with him at his company... being a lawyer... his legal counsel... He gave me a 'bodyguard,' had me watched even in class, wouldn't let me live in a dorm... there was no privacy... no way to get away... bastard wouldn't even let me kill myself. No. You... If you thought I got away from that on my own, you're an idiot.”

“You _were_ with the NSA,” Miller said. “That part is true.”

“I sold my soul to them to get away from him,” Kennedy whispered. sounding miserable. “I... I couldn't leave. The lies and secrets cost me my marriage... but I can't... I _can't_ tell you anything. I can't violate that oath.”

Hardy blinked. “You are _not_ saying you came here as a bloody spy.”

“No. I came here because of something I learned working for them, but I can't say what that is. Please. I've said all I can say. I need to leave before he does come.”

“I have half a mind to let him take you for all the trouble you've caused,” Hardy said, though if even half of this was true, he wouldn't. He'd want some way of arresting the bastard, though. If Kennedy wasn't lying, his father deserved a long prison sentence, even if the abuse was years in the past. That didn't mean he wasn't angry. He was. “You have wasted valuable time in this investigation. My time. Time when a killer could be walking free. You could have said something hours ago. You could have told the truth. You could have filed the damned legal motions—”

“I don't seek conflict,” Kennedy said, and Hardy snorted. “You think that's what I did, but it isn't. I didn't do this to be difficult. I don't seek out trouble like this. That's what no one seems to understand. You can call it cowardice if you want, but I have always tried to avoid situations like this.”

“It could have been avoided with a bit of truth.”

“You were determined to see me as some kind of part of this, and I couldn't tell you what would make you believe I wasn't. You still don't. I wanted to believe if I was patient, you'd see I was telling the truth, and if I didn't run or cause trouble, it would prove that. I told you what I could, and while I couldn't answer everything, what I did should have been enough if I stood by it,” Kennedy said. He rubbed his head like it ached. “Giving you the other name was never an option. Admitting what I knew from the NSA wasn't, either. I gave as much truth as I felt I could, I swear."

“It wasn't enough,” Hardy said. He was still angry about it, would be for some time. “You could have spared us all a lot of trouble by admitting this whole name business was about your father.”

Kennedy shook his head. “You say that like you think it was easy. My wife still doesn't know. All those years we were together, and I could never tell her. I still can't believe I told you.”

Miller looked a bit like she was pitying him. “You let her go because you felt like you couldn't tell her about any of this?”

“I learned a long time ago that fighting was rarely if ever worth it, and I certainly wasn't,” Kennedy said. “I never felt like I deserved her, and I always knew I'd lose her, but I was... It was always going to end. She just... let me feel like... when I was with her, it was like he had never touched me. I was more than a little lost without that, as you can see.”

“Still doesn't explain why you're here.”

Kennedy nodded. He met Hardy's eyes. “I can't tell you anything.”

“I swear, I will—”

“But Doctor Mallard can.”


	12. More Pieces of the Puzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more is explained on the way to a talk with Ducky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure about how this ended up going. A part of me thinks the idea is just too crazy, but one character fit so well it was hard not to try it, and I wanted to write, so this all happened.
> 
> Whether or not that was a good thing... well, I'm not so sure it was, but I ended up sick and so I did this. And there's a disclaimer there. I'm a bit sickly, and my judgment is very compromised, adding to the usual insecurities.

* * *

Tom put the movie back on for his brother, shaking his head. Fred was at that age where he wanted to watch the same thing over and over again, and while it was annoying, Tom didn't have to be in the same room as it. His granddad had given up on it a few turns back, but Fred wasn't moving from the screen, so it was fine.

He sat back down at the computer, looking at the screen. He logged into the chat room, not sure if he'd see Micheal or not. They seemed to fight almost every time they talked, and he only seemed to want to see Darkness45 anyway.

 _Sonofawanker:_ Hey. Haven't seen you for a bit.

Tom frowned. Micheal was the one who hadn't been online in a bit, not since their last fight.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ Thought that you were mad at me.

 _Sonofawanker:_ I was, but I'm not now. I finally talked to Darkness45. Sorted a few things out.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ You spoke to him?

 _Sonofawanker:_ Yeah. He was just on. He said he'd come back if he could. He doesn't have his own computer right now. Said it got nicked. Told him that sucked. My dad keeps threatening to take mine, but then he goes off to pretend he's working, like usual.

Tom wasn't sure he believed about the computer, and he hoped that Darkness45 didn't get access to another one for a while. Maybe if he wasn't around, they could actually do something, and maybe then they wouldn't fight again.

He did think half of them were because of Darkness45, which was just stupid. The guy was some random jerk on the internet, and while Micheal was sure he went to their school, they didn't know that was true. Maybe Darkness45 just said stuff like that to make Micheal think he did so they could bond. Tom didn't think the guy was in any of their classes, and he would be glad if the guy just stayed away. Micheal had been depressed before Leo came around, and it was good he wasn't as depressed, but that Darkness45 guy just seemed to be taking advantage of him, like Leo had.

At least Leo gave them porn. All Darkness45 did was talk.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ I was thinking we could do something for a change. You said you didn't want to do football, but we could skate. I haven't been in a while, not since... well, not since Dad. Him scoring us like he'd done nothing wrong... still makes me a bit sick.

 _Sonofawanker:_ I don't know. I think I need to take some of the final steps.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ What?

 _Sonofawanker:_ I have to get ready for them. I know that now.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ What are you talking about?

_Darkness45 has come online._

Tom swore, and then he looked around, trying to make sure his granddad hadn't heard that. If he did, then he'd threaten to box Tom's ears and take away the computer, for all he talked a lot about acting like a man.

 _Sonofawanker:_ Good to see you again. Guess you got access to another computer.

 _Darkness45:_ I did.

Tom rolled his eyes. That was obvious. He didn't see why Micheal thought this guy was so great. He wasn't.

 _Sonofawanker:_ I didn't think we'd see you again for days. Were you able to get another computer to use or are you just borrowing one?

 _Darkness45:_ I'll have my own again soon. I just have to be patient.

Tom wasn't sure what to think of that. He didn't think he like any of this.

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ You know anything about the final steps?

 _Darkness45:_ I do. I've taken them. I just don't think you're ready for them. M's getting close, but he's not there yet. If you want, we can do more to get you ready.

Tom grimaced. What did that even mean?

 _Notwhoyouthink15:_ Ready for what?

 _Darkness45:_ The future.

* * *

“Doctor Mallard can tell us?” Hardy repeated, the scorn in his voice thickening his accent. “You don't know how to answer a damned question, do you?”

Ellie winced. She understood his frustration—as much as she sympathized with Kennedy, he had led them in circles and wasted time they could have used elsewhere—not that she knew what they would have done if they weren't chasing down leads on Kennedy. That wasn't the point. He'd pushed Hardy almost too far. Without the pacemaker, Hardy probably would have keeled over with a bloody heart attack by now.

“If you think I'd betray my agency and lose the only safe place I've ever had from my father, you weren't listening at all,” Kennedy said, just as frustrated. “I've given you the only thing I can. We are discussing an agency that has the ability to listen to all sorts of communication. There is so much I can't say, even if it is partially declassified. What Mallard can tell you will fall into that category, and it should be enough, but if I say anything... Please.”

Hardy could do with a break from Kennedy if nothing else, and Ellie was there herself. “Sir, wouldn't it be better if we were able to confirm at least part of this?”

“Aye, but if this is another trick—”

“I was never trying to trick you,” Kennedy said. “I just... I was... for all that my father did his best to make my life unbearable, my survival instinct is... strong. Maybe too strong. I couldn't face going back to that, and I made a few... unfortunate decisions trying to keep that secret.”

“You could have tried trusting us with it. We're not the men you knew before,” Ellie said. “Even if you knew one corrupt cop—”

“More than one.”

“—even if there was more than one, there's still good ones of us out there. Wasn't your wife supposed to be one of them?”

“Had her team jurisdiction and if they didn't all hate me for the marriage failing and my supposed infidelity—well, I lied about my past, I suppose that's enough of a breach of trust—I might have asked them for help, but I ruined that.” Kennedy gave her a slight smile. “I liked you. He terrified me, but I liked you. It never was supposed to get this bad... I thought that you'd have the—damn it. I can't say that.”

“What?”

“If you ask Doctor Mallard,” Kennedy paused. “Um... ask him why Gibbs needed the fruit basket. If you ask that, you'll understand.”

Hardy gave him a strong glare, ready to strangle him. “I'm not bloody asking that.”

“There are words I can't say,” Kennedy repeated. “I did what I could to steer things that way before, but if you want more than what I've said, go to him and ask.”

Hardy grunted, going for the door. Ellie started to follow him, but then Kennedy spoke. 

“DS Miller?”

She turned back to him. “What is it?”

“I know I am in no position to ask, and I fully understand not wanting to let me go under the circumstances, but I can't stay here. My father will come, and I can't...” Kennedy held up his broken glasses. “I won't get far, even if I did try to run. I just... please don't force me to stay when he's coming. I can't fix what I've done wrong if he gets me, but I swear Doctor Mallard has the information you need.”

“You haven't been very helpful so far,” Ellie said as she went back to his side. “And Hardy won't trust you one bit.”

“Your son—”

“Don't manipulate me using him. That is not something you ever want to do,” Ellie warned him. “That's not the way you want to get help, trust me.”

“He's one of the students I noted as at risk,” Kennedy said. He lowered his head again. “I had Daisy Hardy and Chloe Latimer on that list, too. Once you have Mallard's information, I think you'll understand.”

“This is not—”

“I've told you what I can,” Kennedy said. “I'll take what solace I can in knowing I never betrayed my agency. You should go.”

Ellie swore. “You can't do that. You make it sound like you think your father will kill you and you're just accepting that now. You know what? I don't accept that. I'm not sure I believe all of this, and I don't like you using my son. I don't like you keeping things from us, but you are not done yet, and I am not letting you get away with any of this. So we're going. Now.”

* * *

“This is... an unusual request,” Paul said, wincing as the detective forced another man to sit in his pew. “You say you want me to watch him?”

“If he's telling the truth, he's as good as blind without his glasses, so he shouldn't get far, but he's convinced he'll be taken from the police station, and Hardy's at his end with him,” Ellie said. “So am I for that matter, but there's a part of me... If any of it's true, that man has been through hell and never gotten past it, and I'm not having any part of sending him back to it. I'm just not sure any of us will survive if we don't get some distance now. And since he won't trust cops, can't stay at his place or the inn, this seemed like a good enough place until I can make other arrangements. I don't think anyone will think to look for him here.”

“Miller,” Hardy snapped. “Let's go. We've wasted enough time already.”

Paul saw the man in the pew flinch, and he nodded. Maybe now, despite the near empty state of his church, he had a chance to do some good. “I'll keep him. You do what you need to do.”

He let the others leave before crossing over to the pew in front of the other man. “I'm afraid we weren't introduced. Paul Coates.”

“I think identity is a problem for me.”

Paul frowned. That was different. “Do you need anything?”

“Is this a church?”

“Is that a problem?”

The other man shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“I take it you're not usually among the faithful?” Paul asked. “You know that's not required. You don't have to believe in anything specific to be welcome here. The church is open to anyone that needs it. And that would seem to be you at the moment.”

That got a bitter laugh. “I've never found churches particularly welcoming, and I have real issues with your god.”

“He's not just 'my' God,” Paul began. “You don't have to be hostile about it, either. We don't have to discuss religion. Or talk at all, if that's how you'd prefer it. I can get you a drink or food, if you'd like. I can also leave you alone.”

“I—No, not right now. Not when I can barely see. I'd rather not be alone, even if this place is uncomfortable. At least I'm pretty sure he won't come here. He only played dutiful Christian for a few years before it bored him, and he probably figures he scared any notion of this kind of place being a sanctuary out of me years ago.”

Paul studied the other man, concerned. “Were you—”

“Not molested by a priest, no,” the other man answered. “Though I can remember vividly having my hand held over the candles as he reminded me that no one was ever going to help me and I could stop praying because no one was listening. If God didn't hear me in the church, he wasn't ever going to hear me at home.”

“I don't—”

“I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Paul shrugged. “I'm a priest. People tend to tell me things, even when they don't intend to. Something about me or the office. It just come spilling out like I encourage diarrhea of the mouth or something.”

“Isn't your job supposed to be about comforting people?”

“I'm very good at it, aren't I?” Paul asked, trying to make it a bit of a joke. He'd done better with the Latimers, but not by much. “Actually, no, I'm typically a bit better, or at least I hope so. Your arrival threw me off a little. I don't usually have visitors, and few have as unique a story as yours.”

“Not that unique. Just... convoluted.”

“You could tell me.”

“Oh, no, that's the thing. It's the not telling that's caused this much trouble. Not that it changes anything. I can't tell you any more than I could tell them.”

“I have a different employer.”

That got a brief laugh. “Maybe, but that doesn't change anything. I still can't tell anyone.”

“Because of what he told you?”

“No. This I did to myself.”

* * *

“Well, this is unexpected,” Ducky said, opening the door to let in a surprise guest. “Not unwelcome, not exactly, but definitely not what I thought I'd find this morning.”

Elanor yawned, giving him a tired smile. “It's not where I thought I'd be, either, but I think Gibbs was rather worried, and after I managed to get myself into this particular mess, he sent me over just in case.”

“Goodness, let me see that,” Ducky said, taking hold of her arm to examine the cast. “What happened, my dear? A fracture is no small thing, and given the location, it could be rather a severe break. Was it any part of your hand or just the wrist?”

“Just the wrist. One of those tried to break my fall things,” she said, grimacing. “More embarrassing than anything else. Tony will never let me here the end of it, and McGee's almost as bad. I'm just glad my brothers don't know. And don't have to know. Still, since I was going to be out of work on painkillers anyway, Gibbs said I could sleep them off on the plane, and here I am. How is Nicholas?”

“Good. Well, today he's a bit worse. He has been more agitated of late, but we had good days, too. He likes going to the pier for ice cream regardless of the weather,” Ducky told her. “I'm afraid it was both not as eventful a trip and quite more than was planned all at once.”

“I heard,” Elanor said. “I think. I was a little out of it, but something about you and Nicholas finding a body?”

“We'd gone for a turn on the beach, just a short one, and didn't see the body behind a rise in the sand. Rather fell over it, and that has seemed to unsettle him ever since,” Ducky said, giving Nicholas another look. “Still, he seems to wake in the morning refreshed and wanting to go to the pier again. You must be exhausted, though. Have a seat. Did you get a room?”

“Next door,” Elanor answered. “I put my bags inside before I came over.”

Ducky nodded. He was about to ask her another question when someone pounded on the door. He grimaced, going over to open it to yet another unexpected guest—guests. “Ah, DI Hardy. DS Miller. Is there something else I can help you with?”

Hardy's eyes went right to Elanor. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Oh, this is Elanor Bishop, a colleague of mine from NCIS,” Ducky said. “I suppose if you have a problem with Elanor hearing your questions, I can ask her to leave. She just got here, and she's likely ready for a rest after the flight and the drive.”

“NCIS?” Hardy asked, still watching her with suspicion.

“Yup,” she said, holding up her arm. “Injured leave, though. Not here on any case.”

Hardy seemed displeased, but that almost appeared to be his permanent state. “Need to ask you about a damned fruit basket.”

“What?”

“Why would you ask about a fruit basket?” Elanor asked, confused. She looked at her wrist, frowning. “That did happen and is not just the painkillers, because those were wearing off, I swear they were. I tend to remember things by food, though, and fruit baskets will be forever linked in my mind to when Gibbs was shot.”

“Someone was shot?”

“Better not have been over a damned fruit basket,” Hardy grumbled. “Tell me it wasn't about a fruit basket.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Ducky said. “That was just what Jethro's doctor said was best for him as he recovered from the surgery. It is rather a bit of a tale, though I'm not sure that it's what you came to ask about.”

“It might be,” Hardy said. “Not sure yet. All we got from your 'friend' was to ask you about Gibbs and a fruit basket. Somehow that is supposed to explain everything, though I doubt it. That pain in the arse is probably lying again.”

Ducky frowned. Did that mean Jakob had told them to ask him about Gibbs being shot? Why? “Wasn't this a case of a man found dead on the beach? I'm not sure I can see the connection between the two events. Well, the one was much more than two events. It started with a dead naval officer with a talent for computers and turned out to be an international conspiracy. In unraveling it, we lost a good agent and a friend and Jethro was also shot and nearly died.”

“Knew he was bloody lying.”

Miller grimaced. “Are we sure of that? Just what was this conspiracy? Did it have anything to do with children at all?”

“That was kind of the point of it, actually,” Elanor answered, not seeming aware of the glare Hardy threw her way. “A terrorist organization was using chat rooms to recruit vulnerable children into being their suicide bombers. One boy blew up a bus in Washington. Others were at risk, including the one that shot Gibbs. We were able to stop the local cells and track down the leader of the group. He was killed. I'm not sure what that would have to do with a dead man at the beach now, though. Ducky's right about that.”

“You said at risk,” Miller said. “At risk in what sense?”

“They had certain home situations that made them targets due to their instability at home and exploitable emotional state,” Ducky answered. “You seem distressed, and I'm not sure we should have told you any of this. Most of it has been declassified now, and no one wants to see the Calling resume its activities, but that doesn't mean—”

“What would it be like if they had?” Miller pressed. “These kids, they spoke to them online, yes? What else did they do?”

Hardy frowned. “What is it, Miller?”

“He said he'd seen Tom as one that was at risk,” she answered. “With the fights, the way everyone treats him like he was the one that did what his father did—he might be right. He's so angry, has been since before the trial, and Joe was able to manipulate him. Why not some stranger on the internet?”

“The Calling was stopped,” Elanor said. “The leader is dead.”

“But the methods were effective,” Ducky reminded her. “And this is actually that bastard's country of origin. He might have started here. We don't know the full scope of the activities that any of the other agencies ended up tracking.”

“Meaning the NSA could have tracked it here,” Miller said. She put a hand to her head. “When they target these kids, what happens to their parents?”

“One of their final steps is to free themselves from their ties to unbelievers,” Ducky said, his own concern growing by the minute. “In at least one case, that meant killing their parents.”

“Bloody hell.”


	13. Glimpses of Other Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of the past and some fear for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it does seem that my idea is more routed in implausible insanity, but I did have reasons for things.
> 
> I suppose it doesn't help I held back on telling very much from the point of view of one character on purpose, for the sake of tension/plot, but he had most of the answers, and he would have given many of them away too soon if I had.
> 
> I did now, just to explain a bit. What can I say? I felt the need to defend him, though I didn't want to go into too much detail, as that would make the story very, very dark and unpleasant.

* * *

_He balanced the law book on his lap, turning each page with care. Ever since he'd somehow managed to talk his father into letting him go to university, he'd been going through every course and every book looking for a way out. He was old enough now, and he was away from home for the first time in so long—he could barely remember the last time he'd been outside before this year._

_What he did remember he wished he could forget._

_Shuddering, he set the book aside, trying to calm himself. He was fine here. Safe. His father wasn't here, and he could leave. This was his chance. He didn't have any money, but he didn't care. He was going to leave soon. He'd almost done it the first day, but he thought his father would be watching for that._

_That was what the bodyguard was for, wasn't it? He knew his father didn't really care if he was hurt. His father was the one hurting him almost all the time, so any idea of protection was a joke._

_Especially since he knew that guy would hurt him. He was just waiting for the chance._

_He almost jumped when he heard the knock on the door. He shouldn't be like this. His father never knocked. He just came in and hurt. The only warning he ever got was when the key turned in the lock. The door might open, but that little bit of freedom was never worth the cost he paid when it did._

_He shook his head. It had to be someone looking for his flatmate. He seemed popular, and people stopped by looking for him all the time._

_He opened the door and choked, unable to speak. His father shoved him back and shut the door behind him. He looked at it in a blind panic, knowing he should have run days ago, bodyguard or not. If his father had come, it was all over. He was going to be forced back into that locked room again, and he hated that place and everything that went on in there, hated that there was no way out, not even in death._

_“You thought you could leave, didn't you?”_

_“No. I... I've been here. I didn't go out. I had stuff to do for my classes. I swear I haven't gone anywhere off campus. I've barely been out of my room. Didn't he tell you that? He... he watches. He knows. You—”_

_His father grabbed him, and he cried out, the same painful instinct to struggle making his father move his hand from his arm to his neck, cutting off his air. “You thought you could get away from me, didn't you? Thought your classes would let you get away.”_

_“You said me being a lawyer was what you wanted. Please. I did what you said.”_

_His father snorted. “You are such a liar. I know what you were planning. You have to remember that you are mine. You will always be mine.”_

_“I didn't forget.”_

_“Yes, you did,” his father said, twisting his fingers into his hair and pulling on it, using that to hurt him as he forced him close enough to where he could smell the man's last meal. “You think you'll find some way out in those law books, don't you?”_

_How did his father know? He hadn't said. He hadn't let the bodyguard know. He'd been careful. He didn't research anything obvious, just stuff that went along with his classes. He didn't understand._

_“Dad, please. You said you wanted me to do this.”_

_His father pushed him back, slamming him into the nearest wall. “I thought it was amusing, the idea of someone as useless as you getting a law degree. And I know it would be fun using you as my general counsel. Making sure you seal every deal I make.”_

_He shuddered, not wanting to think about the threat in those words. “Please.”_

_“I own you. I own so much more than you. There isn't anywhere you could go that's beyond my reach. You know that. You've seen where my business is. You know it's everywhere.”_

_“I just liked learning,” he whispered. He'd always looked forward to the few hours they'd let him have for schooling as the kindest part of his days, even if he knew his father was only doing it for appearances, since any son of his had to have high marks._

_They were guaranteed when the boy's tutor was as much of a sadist as his father was._

_He trembled, swallowing. There might be some chance of saving himself from at least part of this. “I... Someone else shares this room. He could come back any time.”_

_His father hit him hard enough to make him sort of bounce off the wall and fall to the floor. He tasted blood and gagged. His father knelt next to him and put his hand around his neck again._

_“Don't think that is going to save you. Nothing does, and nothing ever will.”_

_He thought about asking why, about begging, but all that ever did was anger his father. Never enough, not to get him killed and spare him some of the pain and humiliation, but always angry enough to make him regret anything he'd ever said._

_“I will enjoy reminding you of what you really are and all you will ever be.”_

* * *

_Jake was stacking the day's reports on his desk when he found it. He shook his head, not understanding how this was possible. He didn't believe this. That was over. Dead. Cleaned up, and it was done. Gibbs and his team had done it. They'd found the Calling, the leader, Daniel Budd, and he was dead. That nightmare was all over._

_Only this chatter said otherwise, and that couldn't be right._

_He lifted the paper and read it over again, that feeling in his stomach getting worse. He had to be wrong about it, but then since the divorce, the nightmares were back in full force—he didn't remember them, but he knew what they were anyway—and he was falling back into the bad patterns of paranoia, thinking his father was around every dark corner._

_That sense of being watched probably had more to do with his wife's team or maybe her brothers, but that didn't make it easier to live with. He was getting worse by the day, and he knew it._

_“You know you're late.”_

_“What?”_

_“Conference call? Overseas thing? Legal entanglements? Your favorite thing?” Taylor prompted, leaning against the door frame. His smile fell an instant later. “Damn. I haven't seen you zone like that since Oxford.”_

_Jake sighed. “Why haven't we ever been able to do anything about him? He has to have done something we can arrest him for or at least anonymously leak to the authorities back there to get him locked up for good.”_

_“You know he's careful. Aside from what he did to you, he kept his hands clean.”_

_“That is not possible. He's a sadist and a monster. He has to have done something else. There's no way he never hurt anyone or was honest in his business deals because most of them he used—he didn't get them by legal means. I know he didn't.”_

_“When you were with him, maybe, but he doesn't have you to use as a bargaining tool anymore,” Taylor said. “You're fine here. You have a different name, one he can't trace, and you're protected by a government agency. It's enough.”_

_“After that man found me in Dubai?” Jake asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “He is still looking for me. I thought I was just paranoid. I know I am, but he never stopped. That man—”_

_“Don't panic yourself again. You can't afford that right now.”_

_“What about this? Is this true? Is the Calling active again?”_

_Taylor took the paper, scanned it and shook his head. “Maybe. It's unlikely. Unconfirmed chatter. You know how that is.”_

_“I let that drive go. If they missed something because we didn't give the investigation enough time, then what the Calling is doing now is my fault.”_

_“Bloody hell,” Taylor said. “No. You are not doing that. I know your father told you over and over again that it was all your fault, everything that ever went wrong, but it's not. It never was. It was him and his sickness, and you cannot take the blame for everything.”_

_Jake closed his eyes, pinching his nose as he fought the migraine. “And if they manage to recruit more kids and those kids go on to kill? How am I supposed to live with knowing that I had any part in letting that happen?”_

_“You didn't, you big idiot. You gave them what they needed to continue an investigation. If they missed something, that's on them, not you. And that's what got the evil Taylor on your ass, remember? She's out for your blood now that she thinks you're connected to that guy in Dubai. You have to be very careful here.”_

_“I need to do something about this.”_

_Taylor winced. “You do, and you're likely to lose the agency's backing. You know what that means.”_

_“Is that a threat?”_

_“It's a warning. From a friend. Take my advice, Jake. Don't get involved in this again. I can only do so much, and Dad will not help you this time.”_

_Jake hated Taylor's father, though not half as much as he hated his own. “Sometimes I feel like he used my fear of my father to trap me here for life. I can never walk away from the NSA, not unless I want to hand myself over to my father.”_

_“So don't walk away.”_

_Jake shook his head. “I lost her because I couldn't tell her the truth about all of this. I should have told her.”_

_“You'd have lost her anyway over the lies. You know that.”_

_“Why are we even friends?”_

_“Because I helped you out of that hell your father had you in,” Taylor answered. “Come on. We're late for a meeting, and you need to forget all of this.”_

_“That's not an option. It never has been.”_

* * *

_“You know this is insane.”_

_Jake nodded, putting another shirt in the suitcase. He was already half packed, and Taylor wouldn't be able to talk him out of this. He knew his friend would try, but that wasn't going to work. The guilt was eating at him, and while he knew he couldn't fix what went wrong in his marriage or make that right, he could do something about this._

_And if he didn't do something soon, he'd lose all sense of sanity anyway, as bad as the dreams and other PTSD symptoms were getting._

_“I have to try.”_

_“And if he finds you because you go back there?”_

_“He should have been arrested years ago.”_

_“Maybe, if you could have been able to press charges against him and testify, but I seem to recall that in addition to him being chummy with all the local coppers, he had a psychiatrist in his pocket, too, and that one had 'records' of treating you for all sorts of delusions, so no one would ever have believed you when you told them what he was doing to you.”_

_“I have scars.”_

_“Self-inflicted.”_

_“Stop it,” Jake said, leaning over the suitcase. “You're almost sounding like him. Like all those things he said when he told me I'd never be free of him. Sometimes I think I traded the prison with him for the one with you and your father and the NSA and—”_

_“This isn't a prison. You're sour on the NSA because you blame the agency for your marriage failing, but it wasn't just that, and you know it. And yes, my dad's an asshole, but he's not half as bad as yours.”_

_“He threatened to tell my father where I was if I did this.”_

_“I know, and I talked him out of it. Maybe being a field agent would be better for you. Maybe you need a change. A break from the legal department. Or just a chance to get over the divorce. Time away. That's why I got you this.”_

_Jake took the passport Taylor held out and frowned. “Are you kidding? Why would you name me Archibald Kennedy?”_

_Taylor smiled. “It suited you.”_

_“And I hate you.”_

_“You love me like a brother,” Taylor corrected. “Just... be careful. I've never forgotten what it was like when I found you that day. You could have died, and I don't like you going back anywhere near him, even if it's for something of a noble cause.”_

_“It's a small seaside town. It shouldn't even be a target. It's probably nothing.”_

_“Then stay here.”_

_Jake shook his head. “I can't. I have to be sure I didn't cause this to happen, that they didn't miss something. If someone else dies, I'll never forgive myself.”_

_“Fine, but remember, this investigation of yours isn't authorized, and while I got you papers, the agency will disavow you. And worse could happen if you tell anyone about why you're actually there. I'm not even talking about what might happen if they realize whose son you are. You're risking your job and your freedom in so many ways. It is insane.”_

_“I want to feel like I actually did some good for once. I don't think that's likely, but there has to be something I can do to set against all this.”_

_“Be careful. Please.”_

* * *

“You'd better have a bloody good reason for not telling us you thought a terrorist group was recruiting here in Broadchurch,” Hardy said, looking down at the man in the pew. He might have thought that Kennedy was praying if he hadn't seen that vacant look before.

“You mean aside from the one of the assholes that recruited me into the NSA threatening to reveal my identity and haul me in for treason if I did?” Kennedy asked. “Because he did. His son warned me he would, but I came anyway, and when I tried to tell him that I thought I had proof the group was active here... well, I did mention I ended up making a mess of the rental.”

“I already was damned sick of your games,” Hardy told him. “If you were putting us on with that act back at the station—”

“I have been sitting here using every relaxation technique I know to calm myself. I've managed to regain some of my composure. That's it. None of that was an act. My father is a monster, though at this point, I think people are a lot more likely to believe the doctor he said he had that would tell everyone I was making it all up for attention or something. I forget what the official diagnosis was. I do remember him threatening me with being locked up in a mental institution for the rest of my life.”

Kennedy finished his words and gagged, losing his composure again. He put his head in his hands and started counting again. After he reached thirty, he cleared his throat and spoke again with words. “I'm sorry. I genuinely am. I was afraid. I still am.”

“Fear makes idiots of us all, but that's even more true in your case.”

“Agreed.”

Hardy frowned. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected. “Miller said you picked her son as someone that was at risk.”

“It's not that hard to guess why. His father confessed to killing Danny Latimer, but he got away with it at trial, and people are taking that out on Tom. And his mother, I think, though she didn't specifically say so. I just heard the part about him. A kid in that position might be desperate for acceptance from somewhere else, and that is what they exploited, kids that didn't fit in. The one was desperate after the death of his father, and the other was having trouble adapting to his adoptive family.”

“That wasn't the only name on your list.”

“No, it wasn't. Chloe Latimer was. Losing her brother, having the trial tear her parents apart... She might have been a candidate for them. And I think you also know I saw possible signs of it in your daughter, too.”

“Aye,” Hardy said, trying to contain his anger. He knew why. Sandbrook. That had broken his family, and learning about her mother's actions had caused a war within their family even after the split. “What about Keith Moon?”

“Never saw it in him, not before his father died. After...” Kennedy grimaced. “After, it seemed very clear. As soon as I heard his father was dead, I thought... Keith killed him, and he did it as part of his recruitment. I still didn't feel like I could tell you about it, but I did try and send you toward Keith's computer by mentioning the assignments.”

“And I suppose you feel that means you cooperated?”

“I won't pretend I made your job easy. I can only repeat that I told you as much as I felt I could. Where is DS Miller? Did you come alone?”

“Miller went to speak to her son.”

Kennedy winced. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea. If they did try and recruit her son and she confronts him about it—”

“Damn it.”


	14. Sidelines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy meets Ellie for the conversation with Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of those chapters that didn't want to get written. It got rearranged and fought and scenes were redone and changed and finally ended up like this.
> 
> I had a few main thoughts doing this one, knowing that Kennedy would refuse to tell Hardy but tell him to ask Ducky, and I knew there were a couple other scenes I wanted to include, but I think I underestimated this one again, and it keeps me on my toes, forcing scenes to come sooner than I thought or be included when I didn't plan on them in the first place.
> 
> It also probably shouldn't have been written, but that's how it always goes.

* * *

“Stop fidgeting.”

“You could have left me back at the church,” Kennedy said, and Hardy gave him a look. “I don't have my glasses. I can't run. I've already dug the hole I'm in so deep there is no way out, and I am only going to be in the way if Miller is in trouble.”

“You still know more about this damned business than anyone else,” Hardy said, which had the other man frowning. “Don't start. You recognized the threat here. You saw it, you saw kids that may have been targeted, and you knew Keith killed his father because of it. You still know more than you're saying, and repeating that—”

“I count myself fortunate you're not a violent man by nature,” Kennedy said. Hardy frowned, and he shrugged. “Some people are. They like hurting things. My father. All of his... friends. Keith. You can see it sometimes, looking at them. Of course, I started seeing it everywhere, in everyone I met...”

“If your father was as abusive as you said, that's not a surprise.”

“And if that got worse in the last few months?”

“You already know why that is,” Hardy told him. “That man who knew your father who spotted you on that trip—unless that was a lie—that's what did it. You've been convinced ever since that he would find you, and you see him everywhere. I don't know why he'd bother, except maybe he finds you as annoying as I do.”

Kennedy snorted. “It isn't annoyance with my father. I was a possession to him. Something to be used and traded, not a person... Just something to put on display, a sick trophy of sorts... Though you _are_ right. That man in Dubai started it all. I'd thought I was getting over it. I was considering leaving the NSA to fix my marriage, and I'd almost talked myself into it. Then comes this man who remembers me and all my father let him do, and I'm back where I was as a child. Helpless, terrified, and completely useless.”

Hardy grunted. “Now you talk.”

“Nervous habit. I have hundreds of them, but I definitely babble when I'm stressed. I told you the word games make me feel calmer,” Kennedy said. He started to fidget again before stopping himself, grimacing. “Is it much further?”

“You're really going to ask that?”

“I'm trying to calculate the likelihood of you forcing me out of the car because I have done nothing but irritate you,” Kennedy said, and Hardy found himself almost laughing. This day was that insane.

He pulled up behind Miller's car, shaking his head as he saw her standing outside next to her own vehicle. She should have been inside with her son, and he wasn't sure what to think about that. He turned to Kennedy. “Stay here.”

The other man nodded, not arguing for once, and Hardy got out, going over to where Miller was waiting. She looked at him and frowned.

“I thought you were taking Kennedy back to the station.”

Hardy had intended to, after giving him a real bollocking in private, but his reminder about the possibility that Miller's little shit of a son could hurt her had changed things. He had to make sure that didn't happen.

No way he was going over to having Daisy's cat be his most useful DS. 

“Have you spoken to Tom yet?”

“No,” Miller said, holding up her phone. “Just got done talking to Brian. He found a lot on Keith's computer. The kid did try to hide some of his browsing activity, which gives us chat rooms and an email, plus all the assignments Kennedy told us about. Brian said they were definitely threats, and he sent them to us so we could read them.”

“That what you were doing?”

Miller nodded. “I told him we needed to know what was being said in the chat room. I'm not sure he can get that, though he said he'd work on getting the usernames for everyone in it.”

“What about Keith? Do we know his username?”

“He used the same thing for his username and his email, according to Brian. Darkness45. Brian was sending us some of Keith's emails, too. He said it seemed like this kid was getting coached.”

Hardy leaned against the car. “Wait. Someone was feeding Keith what to say? Why? They didn't need to do much to push him to kill his father—bloody hell. I'm going to regret this.”

“Regret what?” Miller asked as Hardy pushed away from the car, walking back to the passenger door of his own vehicle.

He opened the door. “Someone seems to have been feeding Keith what to say. Why?”

Kennedy hesitated. “I wish you hadn't asked me that. You know—”

“Don't start on what you can't say. That is not going to work. Not now. We are way too far past that one,” Hardy told him. “You have an answer. I want it. Now.”

“It likely is too late anyway,” Kennedy said. He took a couple deep breaths, probably counting again, and calmed himself some before attempting to speak again. “Keith would be... their foothold. The beachhead. He's the bait. They find one, convert him first, use him to convert others. Keith isn't really their target, or at least, he didn't seem to be to me. He was... too callous. He didn't care about a cause, whereas most of the others were desperate for a sense of belonging and safety.”

Miller looked at him. “That last part. You could have been describing yourself and this whole messed up thing you've got going with the NSA.”

Kennedy flinched. “Well, I can't deny this thing seemed... personal.”

“Keith was meant to recruit others?” Hardy said, finding that hard to believe. He folded his arms over his chest. “No. Not him. He was universally hated, and it didn't take two minutes to dislike the smug little prick.”

“In person,” Kennedy agreed, but went on to add, “Online? That's a whole different world. He could have seemed a lot more charming there, especially if he was being coached and given part of his recruitment speech to cut and paste into the conversation.”

Miller nodded. “How would we know if someone has been contacted? We don't have access to what your agency does.”

“You wouldn't need all of their access. Just... enough. If you can get access to their online records, you can backtrace it, but don't ask me how. That sort of thing—computers and stuff—was never something I was any good at. I wasn't allowed to be. No, but... My wife's team had people who could do it, and if this is really connected to... outside interests, they'd be willing to help if your department can't do it, but I couldn't ask for that. You'd have to be the ones to ask them.”

“Your agency wouldn't do it?” Miller asked. “Not even for you?”

Kennedy tensed up again. “Aside from not being sure I still have an agency to speak of—and I shouldn't be speaking of it—When I told my... I'm not even sure what you'd call him—he's not my supervisor, I never reported to him, not even when they briefly thought maybe I should try the field—”

“The arsehole who used your father as leverage to keep you quiet about a damned terrorist threat?” Hardy finished, needing to stop that before it got further off track. “That's who you mean, isn't it? He's the one you called, the one you have regular 'appointments' with.”

Kennedy nodded. “Yes. He is. He said there wasn't anything to pursue here, that I was paranoid, and if I kept trying to make something out of nothing... Well, you know what he threatened to do. What he may have already done.”

Hardy shook his head. Kennedy was an idiot if he went back to work with that jerk, but that wasn't his concern. Hardy wanted to know if this terrorist plot was real, if it was why Keith had killed his father and thought he could get away with it.

“We need to talk to your son, Miller. Now.”

* * *

“Do you think they're right about it?”

Ducky tensed. He did not know that he wanted to answer that. In the first place, he had yet to tell Elanor just who they had labeled as his 'friend' and what he seemed to be doing here, and for another, that question was not as simple to answer as it should be. He should say that he thought they were wrong, and he wanted that to be true, but what worried him was that they could be very right about it. All of it.

“After the job the joint task force did stopping the Calling, I would hate to think they are, and yet, if they are not, then what would cause them to think it is? A man was murdered, but I know very little of the case itself. I did make some observations about the body, but I'm afraid that much like our friend Agent Gibbs, this particular lead detective is not interested in having anyone else involved in his cases. My statement was taken, and I was interviewed about a few other things, but I'm afraid I was not informed of much.”

Elanor nodded. She looked at her cast. “I don't know that I want to tell Gibbs or the others without proof. They'd all take a resurgence of the Calling hard. Losing an agent, a friend, though I barely knew him, and then Gibbs being shot... Tony killed Budd. He has shot and he has killed before, but to tell him that didn't stop this? I don't know that I could take that.”

“I might argue that Anthony would feel differently, but while that would appear to be true on the surface, he would be shaken as well underneath his exterior. He pretends at being much tougher than he truly is,” Ducky said. “Still, it may be prudent to get more information, not just for our own sake's but what we can share in order to prove or disprove this as something the Calling or someone mimicking the Calling is responsible for.”

“It was just one man,” Elanor said. “Anything distinctive about him?”

“Not for the region. He may have been a native. The wounds themselves were not that remarkable, though I'd say they were made with a fairly standard blade. I couldn't be more specific than that, but his death was not an accident, that much was clear,” Ducky said. “If it is somehow connected to the Calling, there must be children involved, though I cannot say how or why.”

“Well, we can get some of the files sent to us,” Elanor began. “McGee or Abby would do it, though it will worry anyone we ask.”

“Yes, it will, but it likely should not wait, not if it is truly the Calling at work. Even someone attempting to use their methods is dangerous,” Ducky said. “No, I fear I shall have to call Jethro and inform him of the change in status, though knowing him, he was not planning on sending you by yourself.”

“I doubt he was. I figured he wanted to be on the next plane after mine, but he had a case he wasn't walking away from, and he had to finish that first.”

“It's just as well. Here I'm afraid we will all be in the way.”

“Except for this friend of yours who told them about the Calling,” Elanor said, and Ducky grimaced. “He was able to tell them something they used, so he might be able to do more. And we should probably talk to him.”

“Yes, well, I don't think that conversation will go very well.”

* * *

“Tom? Where are you at?”

Tom groaned, sitting up on his bed and looking over at the door. Last person he wanted to talk to right now was his mum, but that didn't mean she was going to go away. She never did. He could try any number of excuses, but she'd still come in whether she wanted him to or not.

She pushed open his door. “There you are. I need to talk to you. It's important.”

“I haven't been in any fights. I don't—”

“Chat rooms,” DI Hardy said, and Tom frowned, not sure when he'd come into the house. He hadn't heard anyone besides his mother, but there that guy was, standing here like he belonged or something. “Have you used any?”

“What?”

His mum sighed. “Tom, if you've been using chat rooms, you may know something about a murder and possibly something a lot worse than that.”

“What? No one said anything about—wait, Keith Moon's dad? I don't know anything about that. I mean, we all heard he was dead, but I don't even know that guy. I just know no one at school likes him.”

“Not surprised,” Hardy said. “What about Darkness45? You know that name at all?”

Tom frowned. He did, and he'd never liked or trusted the guy, but how did they know about him? Tom didn't think his mum had been on his computer. She hadn't even been home, so when had that happened?

“You do,” his mum said. “Damn it.”

Tom stared at her. This was bad. She was scared. Had that Darkness45 creep really done something? “Who is he?”

“I need you to tell me what you know about him,” his mum said, and Tom started to protest, but Hardy shook his head.

“You have to tell us what you know. We can't influence that, but we need the truth. I need you to be very honest with me, and since I haven't gotten much of that lately, I don't have much patience. Tell us everything you know about Darkness45, and we'll answer what we can when we're done.”

Tom shrugged. “I never met him. A friend of mine talked to him, and suddenly it was like I didn't exist. We had been doing the chatting thing, talking like that, and we were in one after he shared some files and then he introduces me to the guy Darkness45. I didn't like him. He was... weird. Kept talking about callings and the future. I liked it better when he wasn't around.”

“Did he tell you much about himself?”

Tom shook his head. “Not me. I didn't really talk to him. I tried not to. But... Micheal did. He talked to him a lot more, used to get upset when he wasn't around. I think this Darkness45 guy replaced Leo... Leo was helping him out a bit, and then he sort of stopped when he went back to school, so I think Micheal was lonely again. His stepdad's a jerk. Micheal would know more about Darkness45. He said he was sure the kid was local and went to our school, but I never saw anything that made me think that. He was just creepy.”

His mum and Hardy exchanged a look. Hardy spoke first. “This friend Micheal. Who is he?”

“He's not going to be in trouble, is he? All we did was talk online.”

“Only if he did something wrong,” his mum said. “We need to know how much Darkness45 told him. Was there... Did he make any mention of the final steps?”

Tom swallowed. That made him uneasy all over again. “Uh... yeah. He said—Darkness45 said—he'd taken them and that Micheal was getting ready for them. I asked them what they were, but they said I wasn't ready, and while the guy said he could get me ready, I didn't want it. They never told me what it meant. What does it mean?”

“It means we have to have a chat with your friend Micheal,” Hardy said. “Right now. We need his name and address.”

“Mum?”

“Someone may have talked your friend into harming himself or others,” she admitted. “I'm sorry. We're going to try and stop it, but we need you to help us. Fast. We'll call other officers and get them there as soon as we can, but we need to know where to send them.”

Tom nodded, feeling shaky. This was like Danny all over again. It was, but it wasn't. He didn't know what to do or what to think.

His mum came over and hugged him. “I want you to know I'm proud of you for not letting yourself be talked into anything stupid. And we are going to do everything we can to help Micheal. Okay? Where's your grandfather?”

“I think he took Fred over to that diner. You know, with all the old ladies he flirts with? He's been gone for a bit.”

“Great. I bet he's pissed,” she said. “Fine. Um... go over to the Latimer's, will you? Stay with Chloe and Daisy for now. Don't let anyone in you don't recognize, and do not get back online. Okay?”

Tom nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

“I don't believe this,” Daisy muttered, going over to the car. Chloe frowned, only able to watch her as she marched over and opened it. They were just supposed to walk up the road a bit, get some air now that Chloe's parents were home and arguing about dinner. They weren't supposed to find any car Daisy knew and apparently felt like she could touch. She held the door open, looking angry and a lot like her father. “Tell me he doesn't really suspect you.”

“I don't know that I think he does so much as he finds me very irritating,” Mr. Kennedy told them. “And it's not really unfounded. I didn't exactly tell him the whole truth.”

“You didn't,” she said. “After that long conversation about miscommunication and all it cost you? You didn't tell him the truth?”

Kennedy shook his head. “I haven't had the best of experiences with local law enforcement in the past.”

“You're a criminal?” Chloe asked, frowning. “And they let you teach?”

“I'm not a criminal. At most, I've bent a few rules and ethical boundaries, but I never did anything that was against the law. Though... there were misrepresentations made, yes. Sort of... lies. Okay, lies. They were lies, but I thought I had good reasons for them. Which basically proves that the ends do not in any way justify the means, but I seemed to have needed to learn that lesson the hard way again.”

Daisy folded her arms over her chest, still suspicious. “Did you have anything to do with my dad's case?”

“No,” Kennedy assured them quickly, getting out of the car to do it. He looked like more of a mess now than he had when he was just sitting there. “I didn't kill anyone. I do think I agree with the general assessment of who did kill someone, but I just... I happened to be in a place where I may have been able to tell more than I did, and that I didn't, that really irritated your father.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Daisy said. “Why are you here, then?”

Kennedy almost laughed, looking over at Ellie's house. “Um... I'm not sure I can tell you that. Which, I have to say, your reaction to those words is about the same as your father's. I think. It's a bit hard to tell without my glasses.”

Chloe had noticed his eyes seemed even bluer without them. “Why aren't you wearing them?”

“I... well, I broke them.”

“And you don't have a spare pair?” Daisy asked, sounding suspicious.

He sighed. “Those got broken on my flight here. Well, by here, I mean England, as there actually isn't an airport in Broadchurch, so they didn't get broken in this town, but the outcome was the same. My bag was not handled properly, my glasses broken despite being in a case inside a bag inside a suitcase and buried in among my clothes. I tried to order replacements for them from my usual optometrist, and somehow they were lost in the mail. The whole mess would almost be funny under other circumstances.”

“Where my dad didn't have you basically under arrest?”

Kennedy sighed. “I'm not under arrest. At best, he might claim obstruction of justice—perverting it—don't laugh, that's not funny. That's just what the law is called over here, and I admit I find the other one easier to use as well, but it's not like they should be jokes.”

“That still doesn't explain why you'd pervert or obstruct justice.”

“Oh, I doubt anyone thinks I have a good reason to do that, not even me,” Kennedy said. “It's a very long, very complicated story, and I don't have it in me right now to tell it again. I made a lot of mistakes, and while I hope that some part of them has been fixed, most of them aren't.”

“I bet, if you were talking to my dad like you just did with us,” Daisy said, shaking her head. “He was probably so angry he almost had a heart attack. And while I liked your class—classes—I think I would blame you for it.”

“I never meant for it to get this out of control,” Kennedy said. “Still doing the wrong thing thinking it's actually going to be right for once. It never is, and I should know the wrong thing by now. I should have it memorized.”

“Your voice sounds funny.”

He winced. “The Oxford either fades or comes on stronger when I'm stressed.”

“It didn't before,” Daisy said, and Kennedy gave her a look. “Well, it's true. You were all nervous first day of class and never once did your accent seem odd. Even when Keith was heckling you or when you were telling us what a mistake you made with your wife, it stayed the same.”

“You may want to give some thought to becoming a cop when you're older. You're as relentless as your father is.”

Chloe tried not to laugh, but she did smile because it was true. “She's not wrong, though.”

He leaned back against the car. “It is a bit difficult to explain, and I admit, I've never been able to predict it. There were times when it was apparently 'cute' and other times... not so much.”

Chloe looked at Daisy, and the other girl shrugged. She supposed this was another reason why Daisy's father would suspect their teacher. Was this guy really like Joe Miller? Was that why he could lie so well? Was he that sick?

“Are you really from England, then?”

He tensed, still not looking at them. “Well, that is a bit—”

“I pictured how this would be for a long time,” a voice interrupted, and Kennedy's head jerked up in a panic. “I thought about how it would feel, seeing you again. And now that I'm standing here... I realize I underestimated the anger. I really did.”


	15. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's almost a delay in going to stop Micheal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this would have gone differently if I'd been smart enough not to have left someone in a car when I started things. I tried going the other direction, and it didn't work, so I went back and fixed the stuff for this direction. And it's not a complete bait and switch, just... well, it seemed more plausible this way.

* * *

“I pictured how this would be for a long time. I thought about how it would feel, seeing you again. And now that I'm standing here... I realize I underestimated the anger. I really did,” the woman across the street from them said. Daisy didn't know her, and she didn't think Chloe did, either. “Of course, it doesn't help that you're there with two teenage girls. That woman from IA wasn't enough? You had to go younger, too?”

Kennedy winced, and Daisy almost took a step back from him. Sure, both she and Chloe thought their teacher was cute—he was—but they weren't like that, even before her father picked him as a suspect in a murder. That was not going to happen, and she didn't like having someone assume she was like that. She wasn't.

“It is nothing like you think,” Kennedy said, the Oxford completely gone from his accent that time. “These are students of mine. Daisy Hardy and Chloe Latimer. Girls, this is my wife—”

“Ex-wife, and since when are you a teacher, Jake?” The blonde asked, her arms folded over her chest, one of them very visibly in a cast. Had he lied about that, too? Had he done that? Daisy didn't understand. She might not be exactly like her parents, but she had instincts about people, just like they did. Why hadn't she seen anything from her teacher?

He put a hand to his head, like he had a headache. “As it turns out, it was easier to adapt my legal degree to teaching than you'd think, though it has only been a few weeks. That's a bit strange to think, actually. I thought I'd be terrible at it, but I liked it. I wish considered it years ago. I didn't. I was too scared. None of that—it doesn't matter. What are you doing here?”

“Gibbs was worried about Ducky,” she said, and Daisy exchanged a look with Chloe. Who was Ducky? Or Gibbs? What was any of this? “He got caught up in a murder investigation while he was here with his brother—”

“He's a medical examiner. Why would that surprise anyone?”

The blonde looked like she wanted to laugh, but she didn't let herself. “With his connections and expertise, it shouldn't surprise anyone, but I don't think Gibbs was surprised so much as concerned. Ducky's brother isn't in the best of health, and no one wanted him coming here alone. We couldn't and didn't stop him, but since I couldn't work the case anymore, he sent me here. What are you doing here? And don't say teaching.”

“I can't tell you.”

Her reaction was immediate. “No. Not again. You are not hiding behind national security with me. Not now. This is England, not Washington. You are not going to get way with that. You can't. Not here. You can't hide behind the NSA.”

“It would be foolish to try,” Kennedy agreed. “They're not going to shield anyone, even if this turns out to be as bad as it seems.”

“You really believe they're back?”

“I don't know. It could have been someone copying their methods. Just because it was uncovered and exposed doesn't mean someone else wouldn't have adapted it for their own needs.”

“That prospect is almost worse than someone resurrecting them,” she said. “They could use these kids for anything. Everything. Not that the Calling didn't, but at least with the fundamentalists, we might have some idea. With someone else using it, we don't. We couldn't track it, not if it was done in the private sector. It's not revolutionary, but it's still—”

“Terrifying?” Kennedy finished. “That was what I thought.”

“What are you talking about?” Daisy heard herself ask. They turned toward her, and she swallowed, but she had to keep going. “It was just Keith's dad, right? I mean, my dad thought that it was Keith who killed him, but you're talking terrorists and—who are you?”

Neither of them answered that question. The woman was back to watching Kennedy again. “The murdered man was killed by his own son?”

Kennedy nodded. “That is the current theory, at least, though I managed to get myself caught in the middle of it. We really shouldn't be having this discussion here. Too many people, too open, too exposed...”

“You can't say all that and then cut us out of the conversation,” Chloe said. “It was bad enough knowing Keith had probably killed his dad—not that any of us liked him—but terrorists?”

“That hasn't been confirmed,” Kennedy said. “It may be nothing, nothing more than paranoia.”

“Aye, I think that's what we'd all like to think,” Daisy heard her father ask, and she turned back to see him and Ellie coming up from the house. “The hell do you think you're doing, anyway?”

“He was just in the middle of a lecture from his ex-wife,” Daisy said, knowing that if her father had his way, he'd make sure that she and Chloe didn't hear anything else, except maybe what he was willing to tell her at the end. She wanted more than that. “He hasn't actually told her yet that he only let her think that he did something horrible and didn't actually do it, not yet.”

“What?” the ex-wife demanded. “You told your class about us? What lies did you tell them to get them on your side?”

“We don't have time for this,” Daisy's father said. “Chloe, Daisy, I need you to go back to the Latimer's. I want you and Tom Miller to stay there while we take care of another matter.”

“You planning on leaving him here?”

“Why the hell not? Let his ex deal with him.”

* * *

“You know much about this kid Micheal?”

Ellie shook her head. She didn't, though a part of her wished she did. She would know how likely this boy was to have gone through with it. She would know if he would actually have killed or hurt his parents. She didn't want to think it, not about one of Tom's friends, but she couldn't afford to ignore it.

“No, not really,” she said. “He's been to the house maybe twice, and he was polite but quiet. Didn't say much of anything.”

Hardy grunted. She didn't look over at him, just glad he hadn't even asked to drive or wanted to use his own vehicle. He was a bloody awful driver when there was a crisis, and he tended to drive like there was one even when there wasn't.

“I didn't have any idea about the problems in his home.”

“Your son did. He knew a lot more than he was saying, even after we pushed him for details about the conversations he had online and why Micheal was involved with this Darkness45. Keith apparently knew it was bad. Why didn't anyone else?”

“Kids don't tell us anything anymore. Or they post it online, and we're not always on that, not checking. I still don't know what half of that stuff is.” Ellie shook her head. “Still, it could have been something that others knew. This kid Leo knew something. He used it for a bit, got to be Micheal's friend and then abandoned him, leaving him ripe for recruitment. God, if things were just a bit worse, this could be Tom.”

“It's not.”

“Oh, that's helpful.”

“You have to focus on what is, not what could be, Miller. You cannot afford to lose your head. We sent other officers to the house, but there is a good chance we will pull up to some kind of stand off with him and his parents. When we confront this boy, he could harm himself. We have to be ready for that. You can't be worrying about your son. He's not there. He's safe. We sent him somewhere safe, and he doesn't have access to a computer. That's as much as you can do for him now. We focus on getting to his friend, getting that boy out alive if at all possible, same with his parents.”

Ellie nodded. She wasn't trying to do anything to jeopardize that. She couldn't help worrying about her own son, but she could put it aside until they made sure Micheal and his family were safe.

Her phone beeped, and she hit the button on the steering wheel to take the call. “This is Ellie.”

“Ellie,” Brian began. “I've got a few more emails. Darkness45 was in contact with someone else from the chat rooms. They have some of the same content as the others—”

“Like he cut and pasted them in,” Ellie said, feeling a little sick. That was what Kennedy had said he might do. “Do you have a name for the other email?”

“Still working on that.”

Hardy swore. She looked at him, but he just shook his head.

“We're heading toward someone we believe he may have been emailing. Go ahead and send us everything you have. We may need it to get to him.”

“I will. I found out more about the knife in the meantime.”

“What about it?” Hardy asked. “We already know that he was killed by a knife. We got that lecture from more than one medical examiner. I want to know who made it, who sold it, and who bought it. Don't bother telling me it's something anyone can get anywhere. That's what I assumed as soon as I knew he'd been stabbed. Miller, end the damned call.”

“Not yet. Brian, you said you had more. Anything we can use?”

“While the knife is one you can get anywhere, the wounds match a knife found at the Moon house. We believe it's part of a set, and the killer may have replaced the one he used, but the blades in the set are all similar enough to where we can say it was one of them.”

“Except none of them are missing,” Hardy said. “Unless you find me a receipt for the replacement knife, don't bother.”

“What Hardy means is thank you for your hard work, and we'll talk to you later,” Ellie said, ending the call. “You know, you could be a little less of a knob. Brian is helping us. He got us information we need, and while we can't prove it was that knife, we know it was a similar one, which they can still use in court. Yes, it's only a suggestion, but suggestion works or my husband wouldn't be free now.”

Hardy turned his head toward the window. “I think we're there, Miller.”

* * *

“You really don't have to do this,” Kennedy said, stumbling again. His ex-wife stopped to steady him, and he flinched, again. Chloe found it a bit hard to watch, but then she and Daisy were still trying to find out what was going on with the whole terrorist thing—and just who their teacher really was. “Really, Ellie. I mean that.”

“I am still angry with you, and I don't like knowing that you lied to everyone, but I am also not going to let you hurt yourself because you lost your glasses,” she told him. “I thought you had three back up sets in multiple places just to avoid this sort of thing.”

“I did. Except I only had so many bags flying here, and while I thought I packed them with extra care, by the time I got here, they were all broken,” he said. “I was managing with the one pair, and the others should have come by now, but they seem to be lost in the post.”

She shook her head at him. “That sounds like a bad excuse, even from you.”

“It's not. Daisy, are you sure we're going the right way?” Kennedy asked. “Or should I be asking you, Chloe?”

“I think Daisy knows the way to the place she used to live, but yeah, we're getting closer to it,” Chloe said. “It's Broadchurch. It's not that big. Eventually you find your way to wherever you need to go. There's only one road in and out, after all.”

He nodded. “I suppose that's true, though not entirely reassuring at the moment.”

“You have been very tense,” his ex agreed. “Though... I'm here, and I suppose you would be just because of that.”

He shook his head. “You were the one that was angry when it ended. I was... disappointed, but resigned to the inevitable.”

She frowned. “How can you call it inevitable? If you hadn't cheated, we might not have been over. I mean, we fought, and we were having trouble finding things to talk about—”

“You wanted out,” he insisted. He sighed, pulling away from her and using the pier railing to guide him for a bit, trying to put distance between himself and the rest of them. He stopped when it ended, almost tripping over the step.

“You didn't know that.”

“I knew if I ever actually told you the truth, you would leave,” Kennedy said. “I may as well have betrayed you. I lied for long enough. I don't want to do this, though, and this is going to prove a fool's errand as I don't think the glasses will have come in the post, even if I have spent the last few days in a police station.”

Chloe frowned again. “What did you do that made Daisy's dad suspect you so much?”

“That was more Ducky's doing than mine. He told them my name.”

“Kennedy isn't your name?”

“No,” his ex-wife answered. “It's Jake Malloy, and I have no idea why he changed it or is doing his British act full time, especially since it was only amusing half the time and definitely not now.”

“The name isn't either of those things, and the accent is real,” he disagreed. “I was born and raised—if you can call it raised—near enough to Oxford to have that inflection down by the time I was in university. Is that blob the hut? It looks like the right shade of blue.”

“No,” his ex-wife said. “I've met your family. Your brother. Your father. Your stepmother. I know them. I've eaten meals with them. Gone to strange islands for Thanksgiving with them. Why would you bother lying about that? Just admit that you had an affair with Taylor and stop lying to these girls.”

He sighed. “I'm not. What I told them was true. You tried to ask me about Taylor Matthews and her investigation, and I knew that I'd have to tell you all of it if I explained any of it... So I tried. What came out was... jumbled and led to you thinking I was having an affair with her.”

“I am half temped to shove you down these steps,” she told him. “You said it started as an office flirtation. What the hell is there to misinterpret in that?”

“Taylor said that was what she thought it was. You know me. I miss those cues. Social interactions are not my strong suit. Taylor—Taylor Edwards—he told me I had missed what she was doing and gotten burned for it. He thought she'd been more determined to look into the thing in Dubai because I hadn't even noticed she was flirting or that I somehow had done it back.”

“Tell me you were not involved in leaking that location, that you had nothing to do with the bombing.”

“I had nothing to do with the bombing. I... While I was at the hotel... She'd seen me with a man at the hotel in Dubai who has... unsavory business practices. He... he recognized me, I tried to avoid him, she got suspicious, and she went digging. She did think I might have been... compromised.”

Daisy frowned. “Does this have anything to do with the terrorists that are supposedly here?”

“No. This was... A past I'd tried to bury deep by moving to another country, changing my name and accent, and working deep inside a clandestine organization. He knew me from before, and it was going to expose all of that.”

“I don't understand,” his ex-wife whispered. “Why would you keep all of that from me? And what past is it that you're so ashamed of you couldn't tell me? What did you do?”

“I'd say nothing, but that's not true,” he said, taking a few steps forward. “It's not that I... I don't have a good way of explaining this.”

“I think my dad would say just tell the truth, and I can really see why you made him mad now,” Daisy said. She shook her head. “If you're just stalling because we're almost to your place and you plan on shutting us out now, that's kind of... crap. You can't just back out of it now.”

“I swear, you will be worse than your father some day,” he told her. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “It's not as simple for me. I know it should be, but it isn't. I would probably have gone my entire life without telling anyone else if your father hadn't found that missing persons report. Should never have turned in that damned bracelet.”

“My bracelet? You found it?” Daisy impulsively hugged him. “Thank you. I was so worried that DS had lost it forever, and Dad is always so grumpy about the cat I thought he'd make me get rid of him. That, and he gave me most of those charms. It's like... proof that even though he's shite with people he actually cares about me.”

“Okay, off,” Kennedy said, pushing her away and shuddering. She frowned. Chloe had to admit it was a little weird. She didn't know if it was just awkward because of the teacher thing or because of what his wife had said earlier.

“Jake?”

He wrapped his arms around himself. “I'm sorry. It's just... being in England set it off again, and it has only gotten worse since I came, up to me breaking my glasses and humiliating myself earlier. I just need a minute.”

“Your nightmares. You... never did explain those,” his ex-wife said, coming closer to him. “You said you didn't remember them.”

“I don't, most times, but I have always had a general sense of what they were about,” he admitted. “I'm tempted to walk away from here now, but I need to see if the glasses are here. It could help. I'd feel a little less vulnerable if I could actually see.”

“All right,” she said. “Let's check this house of yours.”

They went around the corner, past the fence, and she helped him up the small step in front of the door. He opened it and stopped, taking a step back and falling. Chloe and Daisy rushed over to help him, but he waved them off. 

“No. Go. Just go. Now. Get out of here.”

“What?”

Chloe heard a dark laugh that made her stomach flop, and a shadow came forward from inside the hut. “Oh, I think my son wants to have our reunion in private. As, I admit, do I.”

* * *

“What have we got?” Hardy asked the first officer he saw, not sure what they were all doing standing outside. The blue lights were casting shadows across the neighborhood, and everyone was out of their houses or watching from doorways and windows. None of this was good. If that kid was close to killing his parents, he could have panicked and done it just because of this.

“We knocked, got no answer. Knocked again, and that time there were voices.”

Hardy frowned. “And so you just stood here, doing nothing?”

“We didn't have cause to go in. No one screamed, no one threatened anyone. They didn't even seem to hear the knocks. We could have broken the door, but we didn't know that we had any reason to. We didn't have any real briefing, just to come and check on the house.”

Hardy looked over at Miller. She sighed. “I told them to be cautious, but we didn't know what we'd be walking into, either. We need to talk to Micheal, and we were worried he'd harm someone, but we didn't have proof or a reason to rush in and possibly make things worse.” 

“It's possible this is nothing more than a loud telly, and we'd all regret bursting in,” the PC said. “Since they don't seem to hear nothing, that was my best guess.”

Hardy shook his head, walking up to the door. He banged on it a few times. “Micheal? This is DI Hardy. I need to ask you a few questions. Can you open the door so we can have a talk?”

“No talking! I'm not talking. It's time for doing.”

“Oh, God,” Miller whispered. “Please tell me that does not mean what I think it means.”

“Get ready,” Hardy muttered to the officers. Louder, he said, “Micheal, Darkness45 was lying to you. He's not helping you to a better future. There won't be a calling. A family. There's nothing. Just a kid who killed his own father trying to trick you into doing the same.”

“You're wrong.”

“I'm not,” Hardy insisted. “If you let me talk to you, I can prove it. I've got emails. I know who Darkness45 is in real life. I know what he did. I know he was getting emails telling him what to tell you. He's a fraud. You don't want to listen to him, and you don't want to hurt anyone.”

“I want my future.”

Hardy almost swore. He gave the door another glance. As long as Micheal was talking, they had some hope he wouldn't do anything, but if they opened the door, they might spook him. Hardy had to try and talk him down. “You can still have a future without hurting anyone, and I guarantee you it will be better if you don't. Darkness45 may have gotten rid of his father, but he's not free. I know what he did. I know that he killed, and I will prove it in court. He hasn't gotten away with anything. And you won't, either. You'll be arrested right here and now, and if you hurt someone, if you kill them, you will spend a long time in jail. That is no future.”

“No, they'll come for me.”

“Micheal,” Miller began, “the terrorists that used this tactic are all dead or in jail. There was a joint operation of many intelligence organizations and countries that stopped them. There's no one backing Keith—Darkness45—just him. He's on his own. So are you.”

Hardy gave her a look. That was a dumb thing to say.

“Except for my boy Tom. He's your friend. He cares about you. He doesn't want you to do this. He told us what Darkness45 said and how he wanted us to help you,” she said. “Please, Micheal. Let us help you.”

“I can't.”

“Micheal—”

A woman screamed, and Hardy knew they had no choice. “Break down the door.”


	16. Family Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy and Miller deal with the situation in the Lucas home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it is somewhat clear that I'm not very familiar with actual police work, and I'm not sure it would have been at all like this if the situation were real, but this was how it worked to get it written, so that is what I did.

* * *

Hardy moved past the broken door, stepping into the flat and looking around. He knew he should be back behind the others, where it was safe, but he had been able to take control of this situation, and he needed to hold it. Micheal had responded to him after ignoring the others. Hardy had to use that, and no one else could.

“Michael, what happened? Is anyone hurt?”

He heard whimpering from a woman. He hoped there was no injury there, but the boy hadn't answered. He assumed the kid had some kind of weapon, though he was hoping it was only a knife, as had been the case with Moon. They had a better chance of stopping this thing if it was a knife, or so he wanted to believe.

“Micheal, we need to know if anyone is hurt,” Hardy repeated, taking another step toward the woman. He still couldn't see anyone, but he assumed everyone was in that back bedroom. “We can still help them. There is still time.”

“Go away. No one wants you here.”

“I think you're wrong about that,” Hardy said, getting closer to the door at the end of the hall. “I think someone in there wants my help. I even think you do, but you don't know it. You've been listening to the wrong person. You want help, but you didn't know where to get it. Your parents didn't give it to you. They might not even know you need it. That's not a reason to hurt either of them.”

“He's a bastard. He deserved it. He hit me.”

“Aye, he deserved punishment for that, but not at your hands. There are laws for a reason,” Hardy said, stopping just outside the door. “He shouldn't have hit you. Everyone knows that. We can stop this now. You just need to come out of that room. Everyone needs to come out of that room.”

“No.”

“Micheal, no one else needs to get hurt. No one needs to die. This is where you make the choice about your future. You choose not to kill. You choose to be better than the man who abused you. You choose to walk out and take responsibility for your actions. Otherwise, you're throwing away any chance of a future you might have had. You'll be a killer. You will never walk away from that, not unless you do it right now.”

Hardy waited, but nothing happened. He swore in his head. He took a breath and decided to go forward. Nothing else for it. He couldn't wait out here forever. He'd tried. He'd given the boy plenty of chances, but if he couldn't get him to leave or let anyone else out, there was nothing else to do.

“They won't understand. No one does.”

“I want you to tell me everything,” Hardy assured him. “I want to understand. And I'm already thinking I do. You see, I had me a father that was a right bastard myself. Hated him. Couldn't wait to leave Scotland and get away from him. I did. I left him behind and never looked back. Was easy after what he'd done.”

“You're making that up.”

“If I'd said he was a good man who loved me, I'd be lying,” Hardy disagreed. “Man was an arsehole, and he never let my mother have one moment of peace. He was a bastard. Not lying about that. I hated him. That's not a lie, either. Me telling you I want to help, that I will listen to what you have to say, also not a lie. I want you to come out of there safely. I want this to end.”

Silence. Damn this. Hardy knew it could go either way, but he was starting to think the words weren't enough. He took a step forward, pushing the door open. It made it about halfway before hitting something and the woman cried out again. Hardy winced. He hadn't wanted to hurt her.

No, she was on the other side of the room. The lump on the floor was male. The father. His eyes were closed, and his shirt stained with blood. The kid had gotten him at least once, and from here, it was hard to be sure if the man was still alive or not.

Hardy turned to Micheal. “I'm here to talk, but I want you to put that knife down. I can have those other men outside the door come take it from you, or you can do it on your own. Your choice.”

“I hate him.”

“That's fine, but put down the knife. We'll have a talk.”

Micheal looked at the blade, and Hardy waited, not sure what would happen. Would he try for something else? Try for Hardy or himself? Or was this it? Would it end now that they were in the same room? Had what he said been enough?

Or would another child have to die?

“Micheal?”

The boy dropped the knife.

* * *

“Is he dead?”

Ellie didn't know how to answer that. Of course, there was the truth, but having that be the first thing Micheal asked her as she walked into the room was still difficult. She had stayed behind with the boy's mother for a bit before following the others back to the station, and she felt worn thin. All that poor woman could do was repeat a plea to understand, since she'd never seen this coming from her son. Ellie knew it was hard for her, and it wasn't much easier for herself, if she was honest about it. She knew that could have been her. 

She could have been facing Tom, only there would have been no husband to get the boy's anger first.

Both a blessing and a curse, she supposed. She didn't know how easy it would be knowing that she had been spared.

“He's still in the hospital. We don't know much yet,” Ellie told the boy, sitting down next to Hardy. “Your mother is fine, just a few bumps and bruises from when she got in the middle of things.”

Micheal looked at his hands. “I couldn't hurt her. I thought I hated both of them, but I couldn't do anything to her. She hadn't hit me. She didn't even know he had.”

“I know,” Ellie said. She did, since the woman had told her that, more than once. Poor thing. She was a mess, and Ellie hoped that the support services woman she'd left her with could be of some help, since she doubted she was. She hadn't even gotten a word in with Hardy talking him down, not after he went inside.

“Tell us about Darkness45,” Hardy said. “When did you meet him?”

Micheal sighed. “Few months back. In the summer. Was in a chat room with me mate Leo. He'd just shown me some new porn. This guy started talking to me, and we were all right. I liked him fine, and Leo kept not showing up over and over again, either in person or online, so I just kept talking to Darkness45.”

“How long before he started in on the talk of callings and purposes?”

“Couple months,” Micheal answered. “He was just like everyone else at first, and I didn't mind that, but then he started talking about other things, too, and I liked what he was saying. It was a lot better than my dad or being ditched by Leo.”

“And did you try to get anyone else involved in this?” Hardy asked. “Or know of anyone else that was?”

“I introduced him to Tom, but Tom didn't like him as much,” Micheal said. “I don't know if there was anyone else. I just knew he sounded so... so right. And I was ready. I could do it, get rid of the ties and go free into the world, into that future I'd been promised... I liked it. I wanted it. I thought I could. I was ready to do it when he came into yell at me again. He kept trying to talk, saying he was sorry... He wasn't sorry. He didn't care. He never wanted to be my dad, even if he married my mom. He blamed us for not finishing school. He hated us. I know he did. He cheated on her, and she ignored it. He hit me. I couldn't ignore it.”

Hardy nodded. “Aye, I'd have had a hard time ignoring someone hitting me. Be a bit tempted to use a knife myself, but you weren't defending yourself this time. He just came in to yell. Did you already have the knife with you?”

“I took it that morning. I was just supposed to be ready for the final steps, but he made it go faster. Even Darkness45 only said I should prepare for it, but there he was, and I thought I could, so I did. Only she walked in to stop his yelling...”

Good on her, Ellie thought. “How did he end up getting stabbed?”

“When the police came, he thought he could get the knife from me. He thought I was distracted,” Micheal said. He shook his head. “I was, but not enough. I still got him.”

Ellie wasn't sure if this kid regretted it or not. Was that remorse, or was it something more like pride? “Were you planning on letting him bleed to death on the floor?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted out, but she was blocking the window, and the police were out front. I knew I couldn't go out unless the police left, so I told her to be quiet until they were gone, and she was. Mostly, but then she tried to touch me and tell me to let the police handle it, and I waved the knife in her face, so she screamed. I wouldn't have hurt her. I couldn't. Him, yeah, but not her.”

Hardy nodded, and Ellie thought he was doing it mostly to appease the kid, keep him talking. “When Darkness45 wanted you to make these preparations, did he tell you exactly what you'd be doing? Did you know exactly what he expected you to do?”

“You mean, did I plan on killing them?” Micheal asked. He nodded. “Yeah, I did. I thought I would change my mind about her when I was really ready for it. It wasn't supposed to happen so fast. I should have had more time.”

“I think we should all be glad you didn't,” Hardy told him. “Because Darkness45 was using you, and we have no proof he could have come through on any of his promises to help you afterward.”

“You don't know that.”

“We know that what he was doing was based off of the work of a terrorist group that has been rounded up, arrested, or killed,” Ellie said. “While someone else shared ways with Darkness45 to contact you and others to recruit them, they don't have the same resources. It's very likely that's why no one has come to prevent Darkness45 from being arrested. He was used, just like you were, only he probably doesn't care.”

“He did say he was glad his dad was dead.”

“Do you know who Darkness45 is?”

“No.”

“You didn't think you might after the rumors going around?” Hardy asked, frowning. “Or were you just unwilling to accept them because you didn't like the person it would have had to be if it were true?”

“Darkness45 is not Keith Moon. That guy is a total jerk, and I would never have listened to him,” Micheal said. “Just because his dad is dead doesn't mean he was Darkness45. He's not.”

“And if we told you we had emails and chat room logs to prove he was?”

* * *

“Come inside. Now.”

Kennedy struggled to sit up, pulling away from his ex-wife when he did. Daisy watched, still confused by all of this. She didn't understand how that thing could be a man, and not anyone's father. He was just a shadow, something out of a horror film. He couldn't be real, and even if he was, he wasn't a good man. She didn't see how a man like Kennedy could have a father that evil, but then her own father had always said her granddad was a bastard.

That didn't mean this was right. It couldn't be.

“If I did,” Kennedy began, his voice shaking as much as he was. “It would just be me. No one else. That... you know what I'm asking.”

“It's not for me to reassure you,” the shadow said. “You know much better than that.”

This guy was still really creepy, and he hadn't even said anything that wrong, Daisy thought, but then maybe Kennedy's gift for semantics was not just his, but a family thing. That was possible. It made a sort of sense.

Didn't change how wrong this felt, though, and all of it felt very, very wrong.

“I'm not going with you unless I know you'll let them go.”

“That is not how it works. You know that.”

“That was before,” Kennedy said, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't try to get up again, and Daisy wondered if he couldn't. He was still trembling, but he hadn't hurt himself that badly with that fall. He couldn't have. “Things are different now. It's not... not the same. You can't... You don't get leverage.”

Leverage. He thought they were leverage. That was never good. Daisy reached out and grabbed hold of Chloe's arm. They should go, like he'd told them to, but at the same time, she couldn't. What would happen if he did go with that man, if he... sacrificed himself for them. What would the creep do? Would he hurt him?

Or kill him?

“Girls, please, go,” Kennedy's wife said, and he looked at her. She gave him a nod, and he shook his head. Daisy wondered if the woman was trying to come up with some kind of plan. She'd mentioned working against terrorists—did that mean she could actually fight this guy?

“If we go, what happens to you?” Daisy heard herself ask, wondering if she was being so brave because of her parents and this whole copper's daughter thing or if she was just stupid.

“We have a nice charming little chat while I remind him of his familial obligations and everything he turned his back on when he left us,” the shadow said. “It hardly concerns anyone else, and you can all go.”

“I don't believe you,” Daisy told him, and this time Chloe was squeezing her arm. “You're going to hurt him, aren't you?”

“If I were, my dear, I'd be a fool to tell you that, wouldn't I? Honestly, all this fuss and bother over a simple conversation. You'd think I was some kind of mass murderer the way you go on. It's almost amusing,” the man went on. “I think it is time for that particular charade to end, isn't it? Tell them. Did you ever know me to kill anyone?”

“No,” Kennedy admitted. He sounded like he didn't want to, like he wanted his father to have been a killer, which was just weird. Why would anyone want that? 

“See?” the shadow man asked, sounding pleased. “There's nothing—”

“You made them wish they were dead, but you never gave them that kind of mercy.”

“Oh, now you're being excessively dramatic, and that is so tiresome. Always fancying yourself some kind of victim when you know you weren't. You never could accept discipline, but you know that is all it was. If you had been obedient, there would have been no need for any stronger measures than a raised voice. You simply did not allow that to be the case.”

Kennedy shook his head. “No. That is not what you did. Don't you dare try and excuse what you did as normal. There was nothing normal about that, you sick bastard.”

“I am so tired of your delusions. They were irritating when you were a child, and they seem only to have gotten worse now that you're older. You should never have left therapy. It might actually have done you some good.”

Kennedy forced himself up to his feet. “No. You don't get to pretend that I'm crazy and what you did was nothing. You came here to start it all over again, and the only reason you haven't yet is because I wasn't alone when I reached that door. Save your speeches. We're leaving, and you won't stop any of us.”

The other man snorted. “You think you've gotten brave somehow in all these years? I know you better than that. Oh, it was irritating every now and then when you renewed your defiance, how you seemed to forget where you belonged and what you were, but you're still the same. Nothing has changed, and you will not win against me. You never have.”

“I don't have to win. I just have to walk away,” Kennedy insisted. “Girls, please go. We'll be right behind you.”

“Is that your plan? Send the children to safety?” That had the shadow laughing. “And, what, you'll face me yourself then? Do you have a plan, or are you counting on your wife to save you?”

Kennedy swallowed. Daisy knew his wife had said she'd met someone as his father, and it didn't seem to be the creep in the house, but did that mean this guy shouldn't know he'd been married at all? And if he did, just how bad was that? 

“Once again, you give me no credit,” the other man went on. “Of course I learned all I could about you after you met our mutual friend in Dubai. Maybe I couldn't have gotten close to you when you spent most of your days locked up inside that secure facility, but if you think I knew nothing about your wife's profession, you're more of a fool than I remember. I never did feel you were particularly intelligent, which was somewhat regretful as you were supposed to be my heir, but you made up for it in the ways that mattered.”

Kennedy shuddered. He closed his eyes, muttered under his breath, and then looked at the shadow again. “It doesn't matter what you knew. You set a trap here, but it failed. We're leaving.”

“Oh, now that is where you're mistaken, son. You see, I've had years and years to think about things and what I would do if I ever got to see you again, and believe me when I tell you that I was not about to let you leave again. You escaped once. Never again.”

Daisy heard something scrape against the concrete behind her, and she turned to see two men coming around the fence, blocking their path. She choked, starting to panic. This guy was insane. She didn't understand. He couldn't really think he'd get away with hurting all of them, did he?

“The police know,” she said, not specifying her father even as she backed away from the men and into Kennedy and his wife. “They know who he is, and they'll know you came for him. You can't get away with this.”

“I'm with NCIS,” the ex-wife said. “You may not think much of that, but I know my team. I know my agency. You will be hunted. You will be found. You don't want to do this. You'll have both local and foreign law enforcement chasing you no matter where you go. If anything happens to any of us, you will pay.”

“Is that really something any of you is prepared to risk?” the other man asked, taking a step toward Kennedy. “Or are you going to do what you're told?”

Kennedy flinched. “If I go with you, will you let them go?”

“Jake, don't. He can't do this. Even with help, he won't get far. Don't give into him.”

“I can't let him hurt you. Any of you,” Kennedy said, sounding absolutely miserable. “And if he knew... then maybe I wasn't paranoid, and this was about luring me out... meaning at least one person has died because I got away before...”

“He'd be lying if he said he'd let us go,” Daisy said. “We've seen him and his men, and we know what he's going to do.”

Chloe nodded. “He'd have to hurt us all, right? There's no other way. He... he either kills us all or none of us, and he's been pretty clear about not letting you go.”

“Interesting,” the man said. “And unfortunate. You rather are too smart for your own good.”


	17. Minor Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Hardy learn of the crisis at the hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew what I wanted to do with this part, but it was hard to do, and I'm not sure how well it works, but I had one idea, and it felt perfect, and it still let the girls be more than just in distress. It felt right to do that, since they are capable people, even if they make a few mistakes.

* * *

“What are we going to do with him?”

Hardy leaned back in his chair and sighed, reaching up to rub his nose as he fought off a headache. The question was both simple and complicated. They had to charge him, no going around that, but the kid needed help, not just jail time. He'd known what he was doing was wrong, but he'd been tricked into thinking he was doing the right thing. That was damned well terrifying, seeing that someone had been able to corrupt this kid that far.

“We charge him. Let the lawyers and the others fight over what to do from there.”

Miller sighed. “It wasn't just him.”

“And we can let them know that, but we can't just release him. He stabbed his father. He was trying to work up to stabbing his mother. He didn't this time, but who the hell knows if he would in the future? We can't take that risk. Yes, I think someone should evaluate his mental health, and yes, we'll put in for them to do it, but we can't be here to hold his hand. That's not our responsibility.”

“You told him you wanted to understand.”

“And I do,” Hardy said. “I do, and I did, and I still do. I get being angry. Dad's a bastard who's hitting him and cheating on his mum. That's all easy to see, and if anyone knew about it—which it sounds like plenty did because he hit him a bloody football match—they could use that. Hell, they did. Whether that was Keith Moon or not, I don't know. Someone here is working against this kid, and part of it is Keith, but I still don't think that little shite is smart enough to do all of this. It's not just him.”

“We knew that already. Not everyone can get access to classified files, and I don't think that every bit of what they did to recruit those kids was put in the papers, if any of it was. Someone somewhere with access had to be behind it, or it was the terrorists themselves, which we were told it couldn't be.”

“Aye, but that's the Americans. Who the hell knows if they actually did their job properly?”

“Doctor Mallard is actually Scottish.”

Hardy made a face. “Don't assume that because he was born in the same country as I was that we have any sort of ties or loyalty, Miller. Hell, that man works for an American military organization. I think he's given up most if not all of his ties to Scotland.”

She sighed. “That is not the point. We need to know how to find these terrorists or whoever the hell it is behind this thing.”

“Agreed,” Hardy said, rising from his desk. “We need to get Keith Moon back in here. We need him to tell us all he knows about the person emailing him that recruitment crap, and we need to put him away for the murder of his father.”

“Past time for it, really,” Miller agreed. “Not that we could have delayed going for Micheal. That could have been so much worse if we had.”

Hardy nodded. “Did you tell your son anything?”

She grimaced. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Don't let him find out from someone else. The rumors that go around this place aren't healthy,” Hardy warned, knowing that was half the problem with the Latimer case and had lead to Jack Marshall's death. “Tell him the truth, but restrict the details. He's alive, he's in custody, and so far no one has died. That can change, but don't let him think his friend is dead or that you're hiding anything. That could push him the wrong way, and we already know that they were trying to recruit him, too.”

She flinched. “Damn it.”

“He didn't give into them, Miller. Remember that.”

She nodded, not seeming particularly comforted by the words, but then she never was by anything Hardy ever said.

“DI Hardy?” Doctor Mallard called, and Hardy walked out of his office to find the older man standing there, visibly distressed. “And DS Miller. Thank goodness you're here. I need your assistance, and I'm afraid I wasn't able to get much of anywhere with any of your subordinates despite the grave nature of the situation.”

“What is it?”

“I've had my associates put a trace on the call, but I'm afraid they can do little at present, being an ocean away,” Mallard went on, “but I believe this concerns you as well. You see, not long after you left, so did Elanor. The idea of these terrorists being at work again upset her, as did the news that her ex-husband was here.”

“We met her. She found him. It didn't look pleasant, but no one had shed any blood.”

“Perhaps not then, but I fear someone will very soon,” Mallard said. “And not because of their marital difficulties—someone claiming to be Jakob's father has them and has threatened all of their lives. I was confused by the call at first, but as it went on, it became clear they were being held somewhere against their will. I texted my associates for assistance, left my brother, and came here for help, all the while keeping this line connected and recording the call.”

Hardy wasn't sure that was the best course of action, though if this bastard was as untouchable as Kennedy had claimed, they'd need the recording. “You could have called.”

“I did try. I believe I was mistaken for someone pulling some kind of prank,” Mallard said. Hardy put a hand to his head. Unbelievable. “There is more. Two young girls were with Elanor and Jakob.”

“What?” Hardy asked, his heart starting to race. The pacemaker would go off any second now. That had to be wrong. He'd sent both of the girls back to the Latimer's, but if there was someone with Kennedy, it had to be Daisy and Chloe, didn't it? Damn it.

Mallard didn't get a chance to explain. Another constable ran up behind him, frantic. “DI Hardy? Sir?”

Infuriated and worried about his daughter, Hardy could barely keep himself from harming the man. “What is it now?”

“Someone reported gunfire down by the waterfront.”

* * *

“You can't do this,” Daisy repeated, eying the big men still blocking the fence. She felt smaller than usual, like that guy could snap her in half just like that. He looked like someone who could, big and muscled as he was, both of them did, actually, and it was terrifying. She wished she'd been smarter and not followed Kennedy anywhere. That was a mistake, and she was paying for it. They all were. “You won't get away with it. The police know. My dad will know, and he will never stop coming for you no matter what you think.”

“If you think I have no contingency plans for such a complication, you are very mistaken,” the shadow man said. “I have plenty. Money and influence are only the start of one's power. It takes much more than that to hold onto an empire than what you were born with, as I tried to teach my son. He was weak and unfortunately never quite grasped that lesson. He was not gifted with any particular sort of intelligence, though he hardly needs it for what he's best at.”

Kennedy shuddered, bumping them. “You know she's right, though. Where do you think you can go? These officers aren't in your pocket. You can't bribe them into looking the other way or coax them into going along with your sickness. If you kill anyone, they will come for you. Even if it's just the men you've hired that you think are disposable without any ties to you that do it, that isn't enough. They won't stop looking for you.”

“Oh, I think they will,” his father said. “Because you know just how painful I can make this for all of them. How much someone can suffer without ever dying. And you can spare them that by your cooperation, but if you don't... well, let's just say your nineteenth birthday would pale in comparison.”

Kennedy gagged. “No. You're sick, but even you can't—”

“I can, and I will,” the man promised, getting another shudder out of Kennedy. “If you want to spare them that, you will do as I say. No more arguing.”

“What is it you want?”

“Five words on a piece of paper. Not a difficult task, even for you.”

“Was that your grand plan, then?” Kennedy asked as he went toward his father, actually going to do what he said. Daisy wasn't sure it was worth it. They were all going to die anyway, and he wasn't saving them by cooperating. She'd at least have fought to the end. “Make me write a letter that suggests I was suicidal? That's how you planned on making it so no one looked for me?”

Daisy winced. That wasn't actually that bad a plan, since Broadchurch did have its share of those, usually people who jumped off the cliffs, but not always. She'd read about that when she came here, still not understanding why her dad wanted to be here of all places.

“That's more than I expected from you, son.”

“Tell me the truth—did you arrange for them to mimic the Calling to get me out of Washington? Did you actually do all that, the chat rooms and the kids, did you do that to get to me?”

That got a snort. “You think I needed to resort to some elaborate conspiracy just for you? You overestimate your importance. You're not worth all of that. All I needed was patience. You may have spent sixteen or twenty hours a day at your place of work, but you did go home, and all it would take was the right moment. It very nearly was one three weeks ago, so don't think I needed more than that. I could have had you easily enough.”

“Oh, God,” Kennedy's wife whispered. “If it wasn't him—”

“Enough talking. Write down how very sorry you are, and we'll be done here. No, wait, I lied. Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“Not all of you. Just him. It should add to the effect. Clothes neatly piled at the water's edge, with the letter on top. It will do nicely, and I thought I told you not to argue with me. Do you really think it's worth making me angry?”

Kennedy shook his head, hands trembling as he tried to pull off his suit jacket. Daisy looked at Chloe, and Chloe nodded to the water. Of course. That was it. They were being stupid. Yes, the path was blocked, but the one side was all water.

 _Can you swim?_ Chloe mouthed to her, and Daisy nodded, sure that someone like Chloe, who'd lived her whole life here, could definitely swim. Chloe took her hand, and they ran for the edge, jumping off into the water. 

The chill hit her as soon as she went in, and her clothes tried to drag her under, but she forced herself to start swimming away from the shouting. She followed Chloe as the other girl got ahead of her, going toward the beach.

“This way,” Chloe said between strokes, leading them away from the fence and the walkway. “We'll be to the beach soon.”

That was good, because Daisy didn't know how long she could keep this up, not with her clothes weighing her down like they would drown her. Someone would come after them any second now, and they had to get to that beach, get out of the water and run.

If they weren't caught first.

She heard something loud behind her, and she stopped, looking back in fear. She wasn't used to it, wasn't even sure that was real, but she could have swore she just heard a gun. Someone was shooting. Oh, hell, were they shooting at them?

“Keep going,” Chloe said, sounding just as scared as Daisy was. “We can't stop. Just get to the beach and run.”

And Daisy did.

* * *

Ducky wished he were a younger man, capable of doing much more, as he had been in the past, or that he was capable of giving the detective in the front seat any kind of comfort. One of the girls in trouble was his own, and that sort of thing would unsettle anyone. Until Hardy saw his daughter with his own eyes and confirmed that she was well, he would not be satisfied.

The call had been severed not long after the constable gave them word that gunfire had been reported, and Ducky had not been able to use that as reassurance, though a review of the recording he'd made did show that both girls were alive not long before the call did end, but that was far from what a father needed.

“Damn it. I told her to go back to the Latimers.”

“She's your daughter, Hardy. I doubt she was willing to stay out of it,” DS Miller said, wincing. “Daisy's smart. She's resourceful. You heard her on that recording. She found a way to—bloody hell.”

She slammed on the brakes and stopped the car just short of something in the road. Hardy bolted out of his seat and out the door, rushing toward the figure in the headlights. Ducky followed, not liking the state of this girl's clothes.

“Daisy,” Hardy said, crushing her against him. “What the hell were you thinking? They said there'd been gunfire. I didn't know where you were—I told you to go to the Latimer's, damn it. You could have been killed.”

“I know,” she muttered into his jacket. “Dad, I'm sorry.”

“We jumped into the water,” the other girl said, and Miller went around to the back of her car to get out a blanket. “It was the only thing we could think of...”

“It might have been the smartest thing you could have done,” Miller told her as she wrapped the blanket around her. “Not that going with Kennedy and his ex-wife was that smart. What were you thinking?”

“They'd already said... too much... in front of us... figured they would again,” Daisy said, taking the jacket her father offered her. “Didn't know about his creepy father.”

Hardy swore, but when his daughter trembled, he pulled her close again. He held her, closing his eyes. “You had me worried, darling. I thought I'd lost you.”

“The shots happened... after we jumped in the water,” the other girl said. “We thought maybe they... shooting at us... we kept running... we just... ran.”

“We were going to the station,” Daisy said. “Went... for help... left them behind...”

“I believe you may have done all you could, and I wonder if perhaps the gunfire may have been a more positive sign than we first believed,” Ducky said, getting all eyes on him. “Elanor is a trained agent accustomed to carrying her weapon with her nearly everywhere she went. It is possible it was she who fired and not anyone else.”

“That means she and Mr. Kennedy are safe?”

“I cannot be certain, though I, too, am anxious to find out,” Ducky told the girl. “I think we should get both of you out of those wet clothes and get you checked out just in case you have injuries you haven't felt yet because of the cold water or the adrenaline.”

“He's right,” Miller said. “We also need to know what happened. God, if I'd known, I'd have had a whole set of blankets and towels and spare clothes. I don't have anything.”

“Turn the heater on,” Hardy said. “Everyone in the car.”

He led his daughter over to the backseat, helping her inside. The other girl climbed in beside her, and Ducky was almost afraid he no longer had a spot when Miller seated herself beside the girls, leaving the driver's seat to Hardy and opening up a space in the passenger seat. Ducky took it, hoping he might be of more assistance later, but also hoping that his skills would not be needed.

He did not want to find anyone dead, and he knew that they had been lucky so far. Hardy's daughter was alive and well, and seemingly not too worse for wear from her ordeal.

He did hope the same could be said for Elanor and Jakob.

* * *

“Stay here,” Ellie ordered, though she doubted either of the girls was up to doing much moving. Both of them were still in a pretty good state of shock, and while Daisy had her father's coat and Chloe was sharing the blanket with the heater going, they were still shivering.

Ellie hoped that they'd be fine, and she knew other officers would be on the scene soon enough. They'd get the girls more blankets, and they could even send them home, though she didn't like the idea much, not after the girls had gone against what Hardy told them before. She wanted to believe they wouldn't do it again, but the rest of the drive to the hut was full of them worrying about their teacher and his wife.

If anything happened to either of them, the girls were going to blame themselves, even if they'd done the only thing they could. That was not what Ellie wanted for them.

“We're going to see what happened at the hut. You stay with Doctor Mallard. Get warm. As soon as the other officers arrive, you're going to the hospital to get checked out,” Hardy said. “No arguments.”

The girls nodded.

“We'll find you if we need you, Doctor,” Ellie told him, hoping they wouldn't need him. It might have been nice to have him back at the Lucas house when Clive was bleeding out on the floor, but he was here now, and they had his help if they needed it.

She walked away from the car with Hardy, not sure what to think. “If there was a gun involved, we may be walking into—”

“Already done it once today, Miller,” Hardy said, “and I'm too angry to wait. Daisy was here. My daughter. She could have died. And for what? For some jerk who couldn't tell the truth to save his life? If Kennedy put my little girl in danger—”

“I don't believe he did it intentionally,” Ellie said. “And I heard the same recording you did—he tried to bargain for their safety more than once. The girls were both too stubborn to leave, and that is not on him.”

Hardy grunted, pushing past the fence toward the hut. Ellie almost tripped over something coming in, and she backed up with a grimace. Okay, that was definitely a man, and she did not think he was moving.

Something coughed, and she looked over at Hardy, but his eyes were on the front of the hut. Ellie swore, running toward the woman on the ground. “Get Mallard. We need him.”  
She didn't even look to see if Hardy was listening. She knelt next to the blonde, wincing at the knife in her side.

“The... girls...”

“We found them already. They're safe,” Ellie promised her. “Wet, but safe.”

“Shot... shot them... so... couldn't follow...”

Ellie nodded. That was also good. Mostly. There were so many complications from her having a gun and using it, but she didn't think they'd go for charges, not when this woman had probably saved Hardy's daughter's life. “It's okay. You did what you had to, though Lord knows I'm glad I don't carry one of those things.”

The other woman shook her head. “Only... got one... maybe... grazed... Rushed me... hit hard... gun... water...”

That was probably when her phone got broke and the call to Mallard ended, too. “We'll find him. Don't worry about that.”

She shuddered. “Took... Jake... couldn't stop them...”

“If it really was his father, we know who that bastard is, and we can find him,” Ellie said, looking back as Hardy and Mallard came running up to them.

“Oh, Elanor,” Mallard said as he knelt next to her, examining the wound. “This is serious, my dear, I won't lie to you, but you're strong. You stay with us now.”

“Made... Jake... stab... me,” the other woman fought to say. “Blame him... all of it...”

“We all know better,” Mallard assured her. “You rest now. We're going to get you to the hospital, get you fixed up, and we will find him. You know Gibbs. He won't rest when one of his own has been threatened, and I think DI Hardy here is much the same.”

“Maybe worse,” Ellie said, though she'd never actually dealt with Hardy when 'one of his own' was threatened. She did not want to see the man who dared harm Daisy, though. Hardy would not take that lightly.

“Ducky... Jake... asked... pushed...” Elanor seemed to struggle for the words now, and Ellie grimaced with each of them. “Said... wasn't his father... he... isn't... behind... the Calling... that... someone... something... else.”

“Bloody hell.”


	18. Additions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Others become involved in the investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote the first bits and thought they were decent, but then I ran out of steam and decided to sleep on the third part. Well, today I'm a much worse judge of quality, and I'm a bit annoyed with it and wanting to abandon things, and I don't trust myself as a judge, so... I'll post in spite of myself and hope for the best.

* * *

“Uniform went by where Keith Moon was staying,” Miller reported, coming into the room and standing uneasily at the foot of Daisy's bed. Hardy looked up from his daughter. “He wasn't there. We don't know where he is.”

“Damn it.”

“How is she?”

Hardy reached over to comb through Daisy's hair. She stirred but didn't wake, a bit more of a heavier sleeper than either of her parents. That always made it that much worse if he did manage to wake her with one of his own dreams about Pippa or anything else.

“They said it was probably nothing, just a bit of shock and a definite chill from the water,” Hardy said, though he had to figure she'd already heard that about Chloe Latimer, as close as she and Beth were. “They offered to keep her in case that turned into more.”

“Surprised you let them. Or that she did. I would have thought that she would be just as bad as you about staying here,” Miller said, a small smile on her face.

Hardy grunted. “They know about my heart. Wanted to check hers.”

The smile faded from Miller's face in an instant. “Oh, God. Is that condition inherited? If she has it, too, then she could need a heart or a pacemaker. This could have killed her. Have they found any sign of it in her?”

“Not that they've told me.”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I wish I could do something or say something, but there isn't anything. Maybe she won't have it, though if she does... well, we'll deal with that when we know for sure.”

Hardy frowned. “We?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but before she could say anything, another man came into the room, one Hardy didn't recognize but knew was not a doctor. He started to rise, about to order him the hell out of Daisy's room.

“You Hardy?”

“Maybe. Who the hell are you?”

“Gibbs. NCIS,” the other man answered. He glanced toward the bed, taking in Daisy. The sight of her seemed to stop him, and he didn't say anything else, just studied her in a way that had Hardy getting to his feet.

“This is my daughter's room,” Hardy said. “I don't know what you think—”

“Ducky tells me you're the one investigating this possible connection to the Calling,” Gibbs said, eyes back on Hardy. “My team ran point on them before, and we have an interest in making sure they're not active again.”

“And, what, you think I should turn my entire investigation over to you?” Hardy asked. “I don't think so. I don't care where my daughter is. This is my case, and I don't hand it over to just anyone. You want to do something here, I'm pretty sure one of yours is in another bed somewhere around here. Go to her.”

“Sent two others from my team to relieve Ducky. And I'm not interested in taking over your case. The murder is yours.”

“That still doesn't mean I'm telling you anything,” Hardy said. “Your countrymen managed to make a mess of my case, waste my time, and endanger my daughter. I have no reason to help you.”

“We want the same thing. Stop the Calling, find Malloy, make the people that hurt ours pay,” Gibbs said. “Seems to me that might be worth a few words. You give us the information on the Calling activity here—”

“In exchange for what?” Hardy demanded. “It's not like your people were at all helpful. That bastard played word games for days before telling us that we should talk to Mallard, who explained the Calling and what it might mean if it was connected, but that wasn't half what we should have gotten.”

“Malloy isn't one of mine, but he is a pain in the ass. Wouldn't be the first time he stalled on a case or screwed at least one of us over.”

“Still seems like I know a damned sight more than you, seeing as his name isn't Malloy.”

Gibbs shrugged. “Man had his reasons for using the name.”

Now that was different. “You knew.”

Gibbs didn't acknowledge that. “How good are your people with computers?”

* * *

“What is all this?” Ellie asked, knowing she had no hope of understanding what was on the man's screen. All of it looked like gibberish to her, and she didn't know how he could read or make sense of it, but McGee kept on typing.

“I've created an algorithm to help backtrace Keith Moon's online activity. Well, it's more to track similar activity to the Calling, his and others. If we can track it, we should be able to see anyone else that he might have been in contact with, maybe even use it to find where he is now if he's using the same methods of contact and correspondence,” the agent answered. He didn't look up. “We used something more like this before, though it was filtered through a few other agencies.”

“Not this time?”

“The Calling still falls under our jurisdiction, though there is a chance this isn't actually the Calling,” the agent admitted. “And the taskforce was dissolved, so we're not working as closely with any of those other agencies. The NSA didn't tell us they were back at work.”

“That might have had something to do with the strain between her husband and everyone on your team,” Ellie said, looking back at the woman in the bed. Kennedy's ex-wife had pulled through surgery, but she still hadn't woken. Her team was rotating through the room, which was why this one was in with her while on the computer.

“Not completely. Other people could have told us,” McGee said. He grimaced. “Though you're right. Jake wouldn't have said anything to us. He probably assumed we wouldn't have listened. Most of us had threatened him with bodily harm after what he did to Bishop.”

Ellie nodded. “And if he wasn't lying to Daisy and Chloe and he really did let her think he had an affair so she wouldn't find out about his father?”

McGee frowned. He looked at the bed and back at his computer. “I don't know. I guess I don't understand why he thought he had to hide that or that letting her think he cheated was better.”

Ellie didn't think anyone did. “Do you think we'll actually find Keith like this?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think that his father could have done it? Gotten access to the kind of recruitment that the Calling did and used that to lure him here?”

“It's possible,” McGee admitted. “Hard to believe, though. I mean... he had standing reservations for a bit. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Racquetball with his BFF—well, that was what Tony called them—and they weren't friends by the end, but really, why not go after him then? Yeah, he couldn't be reached at the NSA, but he wasn't there all the time.”

Ellie nodded. She felt the same about it, and it fit with what Bishop had told them when they found her. This wasn't Kennedy's father. That didn't make it better, though. Having terrorists out there, recruiting kids, going after her son, that was a nightmare, and they were living it.

“If it is terrorists, do you think they're here in Broadchurch?” Ellie asked, trying to remember if there were any other new arrivals that didn't fit. Kennedy had gotten the most notice, between being a teacher and young, attractive man, but Mallard had been noticeable as well. She couldn't think of any other newcomers, though, and she wasn't sure if that was because the tourist season was basically already over or if they just hadn't seen them. “It's a small enough town that we could track them on that alone. So if they were smart, they wouldn't be here, but if they really intended to be somewhere Keith or any of the others could go to them after severing their ties and killing their families, they'd have to be close...”

“I can do a perimeter search of the surrounding area, calculate a likely radius, run it against recent rentals and hotel stays, but that won't prove much... not unless we have something else to tie it to, which might happen if we get activity from the Calling or their copycats.”

That was something. She rubbed her forehead. She should go home, try and get some sleep. She couldn't remember when the last time she'd had any rest was, and even now she felt a bit guilty for the thought. Keith was still free, out there somewhere. Kennedy had been taken by the man he feared so much he'd wrecked lives and cases over it.

And they still weren't sure about Daisy inheriting her father's heart condition.

She should have gone with Hardy and the others, straight for the source, but then she didn't think that Kennedy's father had just taken him home where everyone knew where he was.

“Can you also dig into Lord Dewhurst's holdings?”

McGee frowned. “Lord Dewhurst? Please tell me Tony didn't manage to bribe you into asking me that.”

“No.” Ellie supposed someone else might have thought it was a joke, but it wasn't that funny. “Kennedy—Malloy—actually, it's Dewhurst, though he refuses to use it—the guy is old money with a title. That's probably half the reason he thinks he can get away with this, but if he's smart, he found somewhere we wouldn't know to look to hide his son. They'll search his house and probably every bit of land in his name, but he would have expected that.”

“I can see if I can track down any shell companies or places held by known associates, but that's still going to take a while.”

Ellie grimaced. She wasn't so sure Kennedy had that long.

* * *

“Why Broadchurch? Why would anyone pick this place?”

Gibbs seemed almost amused by the question. “Shouldn't I be asking you that?”

Hardy grunted. As much as he would rather be handling this case himself, telling all of the others to go back to their country and screw themselves, he had gone with the NCIS agents, leaving Miller to watch over the ones at the hospital.

“You're supposed to be the experts.”

“Could say the same thing about you.”

Hardy snorted. “Should be talking to Miller. She grew up here. Lived here all her life. Knows this place.”

Gibbs shook his head. “Don't need an expert.”

“Then why did they come to Broadchurch? Why the hell would they want to target this town over any of the others? It's not the only resort town in the country. It's not the most popular. Not a good choice for recruitment.”

“Depends on what you're looking for,” the other agent said, and Hardy frowned at him. “See, the Calling, they're not necessarily about big numbers or flashy shows, but your town here? Ripe for the picking.”

Hardy studied him. “Because of the Latimer case. You think that is why they chose Broadchurch.”

“Makes sense to me,” DiNozzo went on. “See, you have this small town, and a killing happens. That's a shake up, no matter what happens, but this one? The killer is a detective's husband. And he walked free. Not a good place. A scary world for a teen. Think about it. How many of them would wonder if that could have been them? How many of them lose confidence in the police? How many of them don't trust the system? Feel like life has no meaning? This place? Like a damned candy store to the Calling or anyone like them.”

Hardy grimaced. He could see it, though he didn't like agreeing with either one of them. “Maybe.”

“Ah, I can tell what you're thinking now,” DiNozzo said, holding up a hand. “You're thinking it doesn't make sense for the Calling to restart itself now, here, of all places, but you see... it does. Daniel Budd was English. Starting over in his home turf, away from where they got spotted before, away from the ones watching for them... It's ideal. Who'd think of them going after a small town like this, even if it is a perfect hunting ground? No one. It's perfect. We could have missed it completely.”

Hardy didn't like this. “So if Kennedy hadn't come here, we might never have known about this thing?”

Gibbs shrugged. “You did have a murder.”

Hardy snorted. “I had a sociopath. Keith Moon killed his father. That was obvious from the first time I met the bastard.”

“I'm betting if he was that obvious, though, the connection between him and the Calling wasn't,” DiNozzo said. “Sociopaths might seem like a good choice, but the Calling was about a cause. Or at least it pretended to be. Sociopaths don't have causes. They don't care about anything.”

“DiNozzo.”

He grimaced. “Okay, so maybe I'm stereotyping, but I doubt this Moon kid—and seriously, did they name him after the guy from the Who or what?”

“DiNozzo—”

“No one's been able to answer that one,” Hardy muttered. “Kid has no idea who the Who are.”

“Wow. I wonder if McGee would call that meta.”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs snapped. “Focus. What do we know about this guy?”

“You mean the one that says he's Jake's father? Not much. He's minor nobility, but unlike a lot of them that lost fortune or heirs in the world wars, they held onto both, and it's just kept growing. He has businesses all around the globe, and that's just the ones we know about.”

Hardy had heard most of that before. “We have an address for that one. What about the damned terrorists? You have any plan for finding them?”

“Yes.”

* * *

“I should go and put in an appearance. They'll expect it. Thanks to your tedious rebellion, they're almost certainly searching the house now.”

Jake didn't look over at his father. He couldn't move if he wanted to, though he didn't want to see that same smug expression, the sense of entitlement that his father never lost. Sometimes that was worse than the anger.

He felt a hand on the back of his neck, and then his father yanked him by the hair, forcing him to look at him.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me? I haven't even started making you atone for that,” his father said, and Jake knew the blow was coming even before he lifted his hand. “All those years you hid from me, denying me what was rightfully mine, all of that has to be paid back first before you even start to feel what you deserve for this mess you've brought on our heads.”

Jake shook his head. That wasn't true. His father hadn't wanted to delay any kind of punishment, and he knew they hadn't gone far from the hut when he started in again. Not that he'd left the hut without broken bones, trying to fight against being made a murderer.

It hadn't worked. He'd still stabbed Ellie, broken fingers and all, before he was dragged off. He could only hope that the girls had gotten away when they jumped in the water. He hadn't meant for either of them be involved in this, and he would never forgive himself if any harm came to them.

He had known his father was coming, and he should never have gone back to the hut.

“I do have all the records of your mental instability, of course, and I'll gladly give them that,” his father said, patting the cheek he'd just hit and making Jake flinch. “Of course, if they believe any of your lies, this will be very difficult, but then I do have some methods of controlling you that should make them understand. I have wanted to repeat that night, and you know it's nothing less than you deserve.”

“No,” Jake said, panic making him pull away from his father even though he had nowhere to go. He felt the cords dig deeper into his skin and cried out, twisting again and making it worse. He wouldn't do that again. He'd rather die.

“Oh, don't be so dramatic,” his father said, pulling him back by the neck. “You know as well as I do how effective that was. You were practically catatonic afterward, and it was almost preferable to these small, foolish rebellions of yours. You almost seem to learn, and then you regress, forgetting that this is all mine by right.”

“There is nothing right about what you've done to me.”

“I'm your father. Everything to do with you is my right.”

“Having you be my father makes everything you've done to me worse,” Jake told him. “You are the one that's wrong. You are the one that is mentally disturbed. And you're the one that brought this down on us. If you had just let me go—”

“You're mine.”

“They won't buy your story, and they won't leave you alone. They will keep looking. Even if you made me kill Ellie, that's not enough. They'll find you.”

“I have nothing to hide, and they cannot touch me. They can't prove I was even there when this thing happened. I have half a dozen people that will say I wasn't. I'm not even in the country. Traveling for business is so tedious, but it happens to be rather effective. You know all about that, don't you?”

Jake turned away, not wanting to think about that. His father had made everyone think he was crazy when he told them what his father had done only to have his father lie and say he was traveling for business. Of course, that wasn't half as devastating as having his mother go along with the lie.

She'd condemned him, trapped him with his father, and even now he hated her for it.

“Did you lie?”

“That's an interesting question from you.”

Jake didn't look at him. He had asked the wrong thing, knowing as he did that half the things his father said were lies. The other have, the more painful ones, they were all true. “How did you find me?”

“Thinking about what mistake to avoid in the future?” his father asked, leaning over him. “You won't get the chance. You won't leave again.”

Jake believed that. He had known for a long time now that if his father ever found him again, that was it. “How?”

“Why does it matter? You can't do anything. That world is far out of your reach now.”

“I want to know if it was worth it... if the threat was real.”

“Mine always was.”

“But you didn't pretend to be a terrorist to get me.”

“Oh, no, I had a much simpler plan for that.” His father smiled. “As I have a very simple plan of what to do with you now. Trust me, child, I have every intention of making sure you suffer.”

“You already did,” Jake said, and his father laughed.

“This? This is nothing. I told you—you have years worth to make up for.”


	19. Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy continues the investigation while his daughter remains in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I figured out part of the last of it, but I did end up rewatching episodes to reacquaint myself with stuff and cringing because I got canon rather... wrong.
> 
> That was a bit... frustrating, but then being me, I came up with a way to make it work, though I couldn't fix it just yet. I need to do a few other things to get there, but hopefully it'll all work out.

* * *

“His lordship is out of town.”

Gibbs grunted, shaking his head. Hardy's reaction was about the same, though maybe the Americans had even less tolerance for the archaic class system than he did. Not all nobles were bad, he'd seen some decent ones over the years, though he'd seen others that fit the stereotypes the media used. He figured most people had an unrealistic idea of what the titles and ranks meant, though it did explain part of Kennedy's behavior.

The man may well have seemed as untouchable as he'd told his son he was.

“We still need to search his house,” Hardy said. “We have a warrant.”

The butler nodded, his entire body stiff. The formality was excessive, and Hardy thought the man might be playing up the stereotype for the American. Or he was just a prat and thought acting like that was part of his job.

“I would like to see this warrant.”

Hardy nodded. Of course he did. He took it out of his suit jacket and handed it over. They'd gotten it before they left, the recording naming Kennedy's father as his kidnapper making for enough grounds to start the search, though he believed the servants weren't lying. The bastard wasn't here. This might have been where he'd terrorized his son as a child, but he wasn't here. He hadn't taken his son here after leaving Broadchurch.

They still had to search the house, though. They'd probably have to through all of Dewhurst's holdings. He was their only lead in Kennedy's disappearance, and Kennedy could still know more about the Calling and their recruitment than he'd said.

“What about Mrs. Dewhurst? She here?”

“Lady Dewhurst isn't seeing anyone.”

“That because she recently had a run in with her husband?” Gibbs asked. The butler frowned. “The man's an abusive bastard. You expect me to believe he only ever hurt his son?”

“The young master was troubled. That wasn't his lordship's fault.”

Hardy snorted. “That's the excuse he gave? The one that you're using to justify ignoring what was going on right in front of you?”

“I will see if Lady Dewhurst will change her mind about visitors,” the butler said, leaving the room just as stiffly as he'd entered it.

“Bastard,” Hardy muttered.

“You expected something else?”

Hardy shook his head. He hadn't. It wasn't like Kennedy hadn't said the servants had pretended to be blind to what was happening. Some of them, like that one, apparently did more than condone it. “How much did you know before today?”

“Enough,” Gibbs answered, and Hardy gave him a look.

“You don't have jurisdiction here,” Hardy reminded him. It almost wasn't his, seeing as Dewhurst lived well out of Dorset, but he had a man go missing in Broadchurch tied to his case, which made it his. Mostly.

Gibbs nodded, acknowledging the threat. “Bishop joined my team. She was married at the time, but more than a year passed before we met him. The longer that went on, the more suspicious I got. Looked into his background.”

“And?” Hardy prompted, annoyed again by the fact that no one said anything of use. 

“The Malloy identity didn't go back far enough. Decent, but the details got thin prior to his employment by the NSA.”

Hardy folded his arms over his chest. “I think I understand the reason why they called him your BFF. Neither of you knows how to answer a damned question.”

Gibbs almost smiled. “Wasn't that, though I learned a few things about him. Had a bad habit of using English terms for ordinary things. Accent never slipped, but the words sure as hell did. Led me here.”

“No. It didn't.”

That got a grudging nod. “Didn't come here. Did speak to contacts I had.”

“And they gave you the missing persons report.”

Gibbs nodded.

“That was enough for you?”

“No, but a look into some of his father's connections was. Malloy—or whatever the hell you want to call him—he may be a pain in the ass, but he has a damned strong sense of right and wrong. He left this behind, it was with good reason.”

“You never asked him about it.”

“Not long after I found out, I got shot.”

“And after that?”

“He cheated on Bishop and got the boot. You want to search this house or not?”

* * *

“Miller?”

Startled awake, Ellie forced a smile, trying to be as reassuring for Daisy. She knew that Hardy should be here, and she was a poor substitute, but he was the stubborn bastard with the right rank to go crossing jurisdictional lines. He didn't trust the Americans, and he wouldn't rest until he found the man that had threatened his daughter.

It was one hell of a bad combination, though Ellie still hoped that the Americans could help them find the terrorists.

“Daisy,” Ellie said. “Sorry. I'm sure I'm not the one you expected to be here.”

She closed her eyes again. “I was afraid it would be my mother.”

Ellie frowned. “You don't want to see her?”

“No.” Daisy tried to sit up and grimaced, going still. She sighed. “It was just a swim. It should not hurt so much. Must be out of shape.”

“More like your father's heart condition might just be yours,” Ellie told her. Daisy stared at her, and Ellie forced herself to nod. She knew that Hardy should be here for this. Daisy should be hearing it from him or at least her doctors, not Ellie. “Apparently, it could be genetic. They kept you here for observation and tests. And I think they'll want to do a lot more.”

Daisy groaned. “Why?”

“Well, your father needed a pacemaker that's how bad his heart got. You might need that, or maybe you just need a bit of rest. That was a very stressful situation you were in, and while you kept your head admirably, were brave and did the right thing, you were almost kidnapped and that man may well have gone through with his threat to kill you.”

“Did he kill Kennedy? Or his wife?”

Ellie took a deep breath. “Agent Bishop was injured, but she made it through surgery, and she should make a full recovery. We're not sure of all the details there since we weren't able to talk to her about what happened. We're working based on her initial statements.”

“You talk like a cop,” Daisy told her, trying and failing to smile. “Did they shoot her?”

“No. She did the shooting,” Ellie said, and Daisy frowned. “She is a trained field agent, and being American, she carries a gun. She used it to make sure you and Chloe got away.”

“She killed someone?”

Ellie nodded. “One of the men that was threatening you died there. The other may have been wounded but got away.”

“And Mr. Kennedy?”

Ellie hadn't wanted to answer that one. “His father took him. Your father is searching for him now, or he would be right here in this chair watching over you. I didn't think he was going to leave. Still kind of surprised he did.”

“I'm not,” Daisy said. “He wouldn't be my dad if he stayed.”

* * *

“Drink.”

Jake shook his head, trying to avoid the cup his father held to his lips. He wouldn't do it. Even if it wasn't drugged—and he did remember some really bad times when it was—he didn't want it. He didn't care how thirsty he was. He wasn't going to take anything from his father. He hadn't forgotten the statistics—had Ellie told them to him and that was why it stuck with him?—on how long it took to die of dehydration, but it was one of few ways he had left to have any control over his situation.

He had to use it.

“Don't think you can get away with that,” his father said, grabbing hold of his face. “We've done this before, and I won then, too. I can always set up a line directly into your body. I've done that before when you got your childish notions of starving yourself to escape.”

Jake shuddered. “Why won't you just let me die? You never wanted me, so why do this?”

“Oh, now you're being foolish again. You know I wanted you. I had to have a son, after all, to pass on the title. And there were other reasons I want you, don't forget that.”

Jake shook his head. “All you have ever done is hurt me.”

“Yes, well, you have proved disturbingly hard to break. I think I've done it, that I have you trained, and somehow this still happens. You defy me. Or you run. That I don't think I will ever forgive you for,” his father said. “Now drink.”

“No.”

“I have to go make that appearance,” his father said. “There will be no one here to give you anything while I'm gone.”

“What about your stooge?”

“The liability? I have dealt with him. He was only useful in subduing you and getting you here. Well, I suppose I allowed him a bit of your punishment as well, but he was hardly worth keeping around. Letting your wife shoot him, leaving evidence at the scene... No, he was better gone.”

Jake swallowed. “You... killed him? You actually... killed him?”

“It is endlessly amusing to me how you fail to understand your place and what I have had to do to keep you in it,” his father said, reaching over to touch his cheek. Jake flinched. “You are necessary to ensure the future, and I refuse to lose you for any reason.”

“You can't just pull me out of some cage and claim you found me and all is well,” Jake told him. “Not only will I not go along with it, other people know what you've done. Ones you can't control or buy or silence.”

“I still have plenty of proof that you're mentally unstable and every intention of breaking you again,” his father said, leaning down close to him. “Believe me, I am looking forward to that. I cannot wait for when I have an obedient son.”

“It won't work.”

“What, because you resisted me before? Don't flatter yourself. You were never strong enough to truly defy me, and I've had all the time since you left to plan this. When our friend Keleft saw you in Dubai, I made plans to get you back. Keleft was interested in being a part of that—he's so fond of you, after all—and he thought that the NSA deserved some punishment for sheltering you, but then he is so resentful of American companies and their supposed domination of global markets, so he would have said that about anything. It used to amuse me, watching him with you, seeing as how he supposedly hates all things American—and you're half, thanks to your worthless mother—and how he likes to pretend he follows that religion of his.”

“You used to pretend the same thing.”

“Only for the requisite holidays, and that got tedious. Well, when they were public occasions. Spending holidays with you, that was a different matter.”

Jake gagged, wishing he could get away from his father, but all he did was make the man smirk when he got the bonds on his hands even tighter than before.

“Now you are going to drink this, and we'll start on the rest of my preparations for leaving you behind. You will have to have some... additional restraints. And constant pain. Enough that when I finally do come back, you will show me the proper gratitude.”

“Nothing is ever going to make me grateful for you.”

“Don't be so sure of that.”

* * *

“Hello, darling.”

Daisy forced a smile for her father, tired as she was. She didn't like the tests the hospital kept doing, and she was worried—about him, about Kennedy, and about her heart. She'd gotten to see Chloe for a bit earlier, and she was fine. That was about the only good thing going on right now.

“Did you find Kennedy?”

Her father shook his head. “Not yet. His father owns a lot of property, and we've barely started searching. Came back to check on you. Miller told me you were awake and that I was a knob.”

“She doesn't understand,” Daisy said. “I mean, yeah, there are times when I really hate you for not being home. I hated Mum for the same reason. I just... it's not you if you're not working a case, and I still feel guilty about running from Kennedy. I heard his wife is okay and finally woke up, but his father was so scary, Dad... that guy was one of those ones like on films, you know? He sounded like... he would have killed us. Well, most of us. I don't think he wanted to kill Kennedy, but the rest of us... we didn't even matter.”

“Yes, you do,” her father insisted, reaching for her hand. “And I am going to make sure you stay safe.”

She sighed. “I don't want to stay in the hospital, Dad. I hate this place.”

“I know. I hate it, too, but if your heart is like mine, we can't take any chances,” he said. “You're too young.”

She frowned, wondering if he would have let his own heart condition kill him if he hadn't had the Latimer case and Sandbrook to finish. Would he even have gotten the pacemaker?

“There you are,” Miller said, coming back into the room. “You never answered my text. Did you find anything at the house?”

Her father shook his head. “No. Spoke to the wife. She's something else. Claims not to know a thing about what her husband does with any of his time all the while lying for him and saying he's out of the country on business.”

“Like hell he is,” Miller said. “Unbelievable. What would make them thinking lying for that bastard is worth it? He's a monster, and they know it. Why defend him?”

Her father shook his head. “If it had been Kennedy, he would have thought the man's abuse had damaged the man so badly he thought he had to lie for him—he certainly was scared enough of his father, but he'd still managed to run and hide. It was still possible that Dewhurst had abused his wife into submission, but the servants, too? That's a little harder to believe.”

“So what do we have?” Miller asked, rubbing her head. “Did they give you anything else for the other part of this? The Calling?”

The terrorists, Daisy remembered. Those were real, weren't they? And they were here. That was so hard to believe—and terrifying, all at the same time.

“Not yet.”

Miller looked like she wanted to swear, but instead she started pacing. She looked back at Daisy's dad. “You should rest.”

He grunted. “Tried that. Keep getting interrupted.”

“Oh, that is so not—”

“DI Hardy?” Another man began, leaning into the room. “I think I found something.”


	20. Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group has some progress and some possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is always an odd mix of what makes sense and what doesn't, what an investigation can uncover and how fast, and there's this part of me that is sure it's all wrong, but I did think that at least one part of it still needed to come from a certain source, so that had to shape the plot a bit.
> 
> I still feel guilty about not properly bringing in more of Broadchurch's characters, Beth usually has had an appearance by now, and I did mean to get a talk with Tom in sooner.

* * *

“This had better be good,” Hardy grumbled, and Ellie winced. She understood his irritability—he still hadn't had much of a chance to rest and was very worried about Daisy—but he was not making this any easier for them. They didn't need to fight with the Americans. They needed to find the bloody terrorists.

“Does having Lord Dewhurst land at the London Heathrow airport count as good?” DiNozzo asked, and McGee looked over at him with a frown. He nodded. “Oh, yeah. We just got word that he reentered the country. He's being held at customs, and he is very pissed off about it.”

Ellie frowned. “He has to know we're looking for him and his son. Why would he do that?”

“Because he's an arsehole who thinks he can get away with anything,” Hardy said. “Though he might also think that the fact that he was on a bloody plane is enough.”

“Bloody hell,” Ellie said. “How did he get out of the country? He was here. He took his son. That wasn't that long ago. How could he have gotten out of the country and flown back in already? Does that mean it wasn't his father at all?”

“I'm sure that's what he wants us to believe,” Mallard said. “Though what I heard on that call I recorded disagrees with that. He called himself Jakob's father. And Jakob reacted in every way like he knew that man, it was his father, and he was terrified of him.”

“Except... Jake lied about... a lot of things,” Bishop said from her bed, wincing and putting a hand on her side. “Not... that... he was terrified. He was. They... broke his hand... when he tried to fight them about the knife... sounded so broken... cried when they grabbed his hand.. he tried to apologize... but... he lied.”

“You're right, my dear,” Mallard told her. “The amount of secrets Jakob kept makes him seem... very untrustworthy. Few people are going to see his side of this thing with his father. Even now we struggle with it, and we know him better than most.”

“Which is exactly what that bastard wants,” Hardy said. “He wants people believing his son is a liar, mentally unstable, creating unrealistic fantasies of abuse. He used that method before, and he'll do it again.”

“Indeed,” Doctor Mallard said, “I believe he may feel that he can convince us he is innocent in the matter of his son's disappearance by reappearing as though he has nothing to hide. He came in from an airport, supporting the idea that he was out of the country, as his employees claimed. We will likely hear that he had nothing to do with his son and an outrage that we found his son after all this time only to lose him.”

“We didn't lose him,” Gibbs said. “That bastard has him. He knows where he is. He's probably not that far from here.”

“Aye,” Hardy said. “I'd have agreed with that, but that still leaves us with the problem of how he managed to come back _into_ the bloody country when we think he never really left.” 

“Town's on the water,” Gibbs reminded them. “McGee, you have a list of those properties he owns? Any of them in France? Along the coast?”

“I think so,” McGee said. “Give me a second to confirm that.”

“Damn,” DiNozzo said. “That's actually sort of brilliant. The creepy sort of brilliant, but brilliant. This guy is good—in the worst possible way. Reminds me of some of the other sickos we've been up against. And pisses me off.”

“What about the search you were running before, McGee?” Ellie asked. “You said you were going to look for possible connections to local real estate here or nearby that Dewhurst could have used to hide his son.”

“I did. I mean, I am. I've got a lot of searches going, though so far, nothing has turned up on Keith Moon—well, not the Keith Moon we want, the drummer from the Who is in plenty of places—and the Calling. Tracking down Dewhurst's business interests was only one part of that. I've got a few locations closer to Dorset, but we all pretty much agree he wouldn't risk using a property he owns himself. He'd have to bury it in at least one shell company.”

“I thought you said you had something for us,” Hardy said. “If that's your idea of something—”

“I _do_ have something. There's a property almost out of Dorset that's owned by Jake Malloy.”

Bishop shook her head. “No. Jake never owned any property in England. And don't say I don't know that. We got divorced. All the assets... in the open... my lawyer wanted... force him to sell the Mercedes... would never have let a property here slide.”

“Could have been bought after the divorce,” DiNozzo said. “Or by a different Jake Malloy.”

McGee shook his head. “Everything else matches up with what we knew of Jake, and it was bought before the divorce.”

“Probably about the time he was in Dubai,” Hardy said, and the others looked at him. “Kennedy—whatever his name is—he told us he met a man in Dubai that recognized him as Dewhurst's son.”

“That's what he said,” Bishop agreed. “Jake said... Taylor Matthews saw him with that man... started investigating him. His father told him... he knew he was NSA... had plans in place to get him.”

“Including buying land in his name?” DiNozzo asked. “Plenty of people would look there first.”

“This guy's playing more games than his son,” Hardy muttered. “Say he knows he'll be arrested for his son's abduction first thing. He knows all of his property will be searched. It's a damned long list, but it's a list he wants us wasting our time on. And if we were to find his son at this place his son supposedly owns, that fits with the set up he already has in place to make the man look like a raving lunatic. He was out of the country and his son was hiding on a property he owns. It's all fake. Or at least that's what the bastard wants us to think.”

“It's still too soon,” Ellie said. “Even if he was counting on us finding his son, he would need some way of disproving not only what he said but also what his ex-wife and the girls witnessed, and none of that is going away any time soon.”

“He showed up at the airport to stall us,” Gibbs said. “We need to make him think he's getting what he wanted and that we haven't found the place in Malloy's name.”

“You want to go without a search warrant,” Ellie said, feeling a bit sick. “I know Kennedy said his father had connections in the police, and someone had to have told him that we found the missing persons report, but if we search without a warrant and do find something—”

“That may be a risk we have no choice but to take.”

* * *

“Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs,” Abigail said, rushing into the room. Ducky knew he was not the only one pleased to see her, despite everything, though he thought that once again, her appearance was causing a bit of a stir and quite a bit of disbelief from their local counterparts. “There you are. I think someone got confused and sent me to the wrong room—how is it that everyone still makes the same wrong assumptions about Goths anyway? Must be a Hollywood thing. They keep portraying us all as creepy or emo or—”

“Abby,” Jethro said, interrupting her. “What have you got?”

“Not my lab, which I can tell you is very disappointing even if most forensics labs have similar equipment,” she said. “Though I did get a chance to see Keith Moon's computer, which was... This kid was not at all tech savvy. He left so much behind, and I'm not just talking about his browser history or his emails. He might have thought he deleted stuff, but he didn't. In fact, he was probably a little paranoid about it—he kept logs and screenshots of all of the chat rooms he was in.”

“What?”

“Does that mean that we have all of his conversations? Not just the emails he got with his recruitment speech or what he said to Micheal Lucas?”

“Yup,” Abigail said, and then she frowned. “Well, if Micheal Lucas is the one that goes by _sonofawanker_ and has that email address from—”

“Any of those conversations have names, dates, places to meet?” Jethro asked, cutting right through it as usual.

She shook her head. “No, and that's part of why I came here. I need Ducky.”

“You need Doctor Mallard?” DS Miller stared at her and looked like she might be ill. “If there is another body—”

“Oh, no,” Abigail assured her quickly. “There isn't. I mean, not that I know of. I need Ducky's profiler brain, though, because there's something a bit hinky with the stuff I saw, but I didn't get a chance to read it all before, and I think Ducky might have some insights into this Keith Moon kid or one of the others from the chat rooms that could be valuable.”

The detective nodded. “I—that makes sense.”

“One of them is her son,” Hardy said, and she turned to him with a look of horror mixed with anger. “They were trying to recruit him, too. Don't look at me like that, Miller. They'd have found out anyway and half of them already know. Your son was targeted because his father's an arsehole and a pedophile killer. That's not who Tom is, though he's a typical idiot teenage boy.”

“Thank you for that, sir,” she muttered. “How many sensitivity classes have you failed, anyway? Knob.”

Hardy just shook his head. “If you find anything that says Tom was lying to us—didn't get the sense he wanted any part of the Calling, but he did hold back details of his friend's situation—we need to know.”

“The boy safe?”

“He's with friends of mine,” Miller said. “You think they'd go after him?”

“Depends on how far the recruitment attempts went,” Ducky told her. “We found out about this whole conspiracy because a naval ensign was able to block the harassment a girl was suffering, but in doing so, she exposed her ability to find their real identities and purposes. Did your son mention any kind of... retaliation for rejecting their ideals?”

Miller shook her head. “He said the guy mostly let it go, said he wasn't ready yet. He didn't know it was Keith—or someone using his username and email—but that guy had his hooks deep into Michael and had convinced him to take the next steps—which meant killing his parents as Keith had done with his father.”

Abigail winced, not the only one to do so.

“One problem with that—if that was the goal they all had, how the hell could this have gone undetected for so long?” Hardy asked. “Kids killing their parents makes news everywhere, not just in a small town like this.”

“Not all of them did,” Ducky said. “Some just disavowed them and left. That is true. Others did take that step, and others had their parents murdered by the group to force the severing of the ties. It depended on the circumstances, and while it was newsworthy, it wasn't always connected properly, and certainly not by the press.”

“Multiple agencies did their best to keep this thing under wraps until it was stopped. Even then, it wasn't common knowledge everywhere,” Timothy said. He frowned. “Tony, is something wrong?”

“Something Budd said before I shot him. I told him to keep his hands where I could see him, and he asked me about the hands I couldn't see,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “Damn it. He was so smug, thought he'd get away with it, and he did. This thing rebuilt itself.”

“Not completely,” Ducky told him. “There is still time to stop it before it gains the kind of strength and momentum it had before. We're not done yet, Anthony.”

“Ducky's right,” Jethro said. “We'll need that profile, Duck. And you, Elf Lord, find Keith Moon. Abby can help you with that. We have a place to search.”

“Someone has to talk to Dewhurst,” Hardy reminded him. “Get the feeling it won't work unless it's the two of us.”

“And a shame we're going to miss it,” Anthony said. Jethro glared at him, and he gave the other man a bright smile before turning to Miller. “So, house search. What do you say, Miller? You with me?”

* * *

“You up to this?”

“The hell kind of question is that?” Hardy demanded, stopping just outside the doors to the interview room. He was tempted to tell the American to go straight to hell and a few more colorful things before sending him on his way. He didn't think he'd win in a physical battle, but he didn't have to. He just needed the bastard to go, and he could make that happen. NCIS was working here with their cooperation, and Hardy could end that any time he chose.

“He threatened your daughter,” Gibbs said. “I need to know you can handle this conversation.”

Hardy thought about the look Gibbs had given Daisy back at the hospital. “Your daughter... she's dead, isn't she?”

Gibbs went cold in response. “Not the point. The point—”

“My daughter was threatened by this bastard. I haven't forgotten. I've also watched a killer go free because someone couldn't control themselves. I know why you're asking. I also have some suspicions on just how far this thing with your daughter went,” Hardy said, since he didn't doubt this man could have killed for his daughter, would have. Daisy wasn't dead. This wasn't the same, though he'd glad harm anyone he thought had hurt her. He even knew how he'd do it, even if it wasn't a sexual crime. “You can intervene if it goes too far. Same as I'd do for you. May as well see which of us cracks first.”

Gibbs looked at him. “Just about anyone's money would be on you.”

“Anyone that knows you, you mean,” Hardy disagreed before resuming his walk. He wasn't completely unflappable, as his twitter rant proved, but he'd been remarkably calm with Joe Miller. Claire Ripley. Lee Ashworth. Even Ricky Gillispe, whose actions had lead to his daughter's death after he killed her cousin.

Hardy pushed the door open and entered the room. Dewhurst was too composed, just about as smug sitting there as he'd sounded on that bloody recording.

He knew exactly where to start, too. “Mr. Dewhurst, we have a few questions—”

“Lord Dewhurst,” the man corrected, giving himself some elitist airs as he spoke. “That is the correct form of address. I suggest you use it if you want this conversation to go anywhere.”

“Ah, but we all know it won't,” Hardy said, sitting down across from him, aware of Gibbs taking the other chair. “Because you're about to deny everything your son told us and claim he's mentally unstable. That someone must have lied to us about the attack on him and, what, framed you? That about right?”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” Dewhurst said, feigning confusion. “Everyone keeps asking me about this, but my son went missing more than ten years ago. I haven't seen him since. Even my wife lost hope. He must be dead by now.”

Gibbs grunted. “I've seen drug dealers and serial killers with better acts. Some people might have believed they had some remorse. You don't.”

“I have nothing to be remorseful for,” Dewhurst said. “I did nothing wrong.”

That was the key right there. Dewhurst didn't see what he'd done to his son as wrong. “Your son was a difficult child.”

“Yes, very much so. Sometimes I wondered if he had that sort of thing you read about. Multiple personalities. It was very frustrating. He could be the gentlest, most obedient child there ever was. A sweetheart, they'd say. And then he'd be completely unreasonable. He'd make up outrageous stories and try to run away.”

“You had him see a therapist.”

“Several, actually.”

“And yet you still let him go off to university on his own.”

Dewhurst nodded. “That is a decision I still regret. I had such high hopes. I wanted him to be a part of my business, and he did seem to enjoy school. He had seemed to settle some, was far more manageable. I had someone there to watch over him, and he did well according to his professors. Then the day before his graduation ceremony, he disappeared. Gone, just like that. Never a word to me or his mother, to anyone he'd known. I can't tell you what that did to our family.”

Very little, Hardy thought.

Gibbs leaned forward. “And if your son were to come back, what would you have done?”

“Oh, welcomed him, of course. Though with him being gone for so long, I'd have wanted his doctors to examine him again. I would think ten years on his own would suggest he had a true mental break and was possibly a danger to himself and others.”

Dewhurst was making his case. Anyone else listening to him, even ones who had met his son and seen how terrified of him that man was, might have thought he was telling the truth about his son's mental instability.

“I have trouble believing your son is much of a danger to anyone,” Hardy said. “And I'm pretty sure you're the one that made sure of that.”

“I told you. I haven't seen my son since he disappeared, and I will not have you accusing me of killing him. He was fine, and I wasn't even in town. Just like I wasn't in the country until a few hours ago. You can—”

“Verify with the staff at your house in France that you were only there for a few minutes before leaving to catch this very convenient flight you're trying to use as your alibi,” Hardy said. “Not all of them have the same insane loyalty to you the ones at your ancestral house do.”

“You're lying.”

“Are we?” Gibbs asked. “What about your business contacts?”

“I have several. I suppose some of them don't like me very much and would gladly take your side in this witch hunt of yours, but I assure you, they're not worth the time you're giving them. Everyone has their detractors. That doesn't make me a killer or whatever else you think I am.”

“Cut the crap,” Gibbs told him. “You were supposedly in France on business for the last month, but there's no activity on your phone to back that up. You were smart enough to leave it there when you came back across the channel, knowing the GPS would tell us exactly where you were, but not smart enough to have anyone make sure it looked like you were still using the damned thing.”

“Excuse me?”

“The calls and texts were forwarded to another number, one on a phone old enough not to have built in GPS,” Hardy said. “You knew you'd be tracked, and you tried to cover it up, but there's too many digital footprints these days. It's not like before. People wouldn't have as many ways to disprove your lies about your whereabouts or what you did to your son.”

“He injured himself to make his stories seem real, and if I was a few places I didn't disclose, I'm sure you can understand me not wanting my wife to know about that sort of thing. She cares very much about appearances. My infidelities were never to come home to her, that was all part of the arrangement.”

“And what part of the arrangement was your son?” Gibbs demanded. “She gives you an heir, so you leave her alone and force all of it on the boy?”

“It's true that my wife and I have not enjoyed each other's affections for years now, if ever. She wanted a title, I wanted her money, and it was a mutually beneficial arrangement. We agreed on at least one child to continue the line, and after our attempts to get one took as long as they did, we were no longer interested in pursuing more, so he was our only one. It was fine with both of us.”

Gibbs shook his head. Hardy thought the other man was getting frustrated, but then so was he.

“What did you do to your son on his nineteenth birthday?”

Dewhurst frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, you heard me,” Hardy said. “It's what you threatened him with—threatened his ex-wife and two teenage girls with it, too. It made him back down and give you just about anything you wanted. And seeing as one of those girls was my daughter, I think I have a right to know what you were planning.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Dewhurst said. Then he grimaced. “I suppose it's true that there was an... incident around then. He tried to kill himself. Always so dramatic that one. Picked a poor way to do it, and that poor horse was never the same. Had to shoot it. Pity about that.”

Hardy wanted to strangle him. He just bloody did.

Gibbs might have felt the same. “This is not about a damned horse.”

“I do miss it, though not as much as I miss my son.”

“You bloody liar.”

* * *

Ellie let DiNozzo go ahead of her again, not sure she liked any bit of this, but she was still willing to let the man with the gun take the first steps into any room they visited. The house looked abandoned, and she had her doubts about anyone being here, but that just made it that much more unsettling to pass through. Each room seemed darker and more foreboding than the last one, like something out of a horror film, and she kept waiting for something to jump out and scare them.

“I'm betting this place wouldn't even qualify for a tax write off,” DiNozzo muttered, lowering his gun and shaking his head. He holstered it before taking out his phone. “McGoober, you sure about this place in Jake's name?”

Ellie looked around, turning back to the hall. Nothing here showed any signs of use, like they had been the only people in it for years, and while it was possible that Jake Malloy or someone acting for him had bought it sight unseen, it was hard to believe.

She could see the appeal for his father, though. The grounds were surrounded by tall trees, blocking anyone from seeing in and out, and she doubted anyone driving on the road would have seen the house from it, even with every light in the place lit. Still, as remote as it was, ideal for someone as sick as Kennedy's father seemed to be, there wasn't any sign of life.

“I don't know, McGee. Do that computer stuff you do and find a damned satellite. Google map the place. Just do something and tell me what we're missing here.”

Ellie glanced back toward the door. Perhaps they'd been wrong to bring Doctor Mallard along. He'd been pulled away from his brother enough already.

She sighed, taking out her own phone as she walked away from DiNozzo and the argument that he was having with McGee.

She dialed the number and waited for it to connect, pacing as she did.

“Hello?”

“Tom, thank goodness,” she said. “Oh, I have been so worried about you. I think I've driven Beth nuts asking for updates. You haven't said much since I told you about Micheal, and I wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm okay, Mum,” Tom told her. “I... I couldn't believe it. About Micheal. He kept telling me that he hated his dad, but I never thought he'd attack him like that. It's not like him. He's not a bad person. I just... I couldn't...”

“I know.”

“It's like Dad all over again,” Tom whispered. “I hate it.”

She winced. “I know. I'm so sorry. I should be with you. I meant to be, but the people who helped Keith talk Micheal into doing that are still out there, and another man's been kidnapped. I am going to find him, find those bastards that hurt your friend, and I'm not resting until I do, okay? I want you to stay safe, though. You just stay with Beth and Mark, okay?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Tom said. “The man that's missing... it's that teacher, isn't it? Everyone's talking about it. Guess he was a lot more popular than I thought. I hated him, but that was because he took me to the office and I got suspended.”

“Yeah, he's the one that's missing. Look, if you hear anything else you think I should know, tell me right away. Or tell Beth. Don't keep it to yourself. And if Darkness45 or anyone else from those chat rooms tries to talk to you again, you tell us.”

“I will.”

“Good. I love you,” she said, wincing when she saw DiNozzo standing there. She forced a smile. “I have to go, Tom. Remember what I said. Stay safe.”

She hung up, trying to apologize. “That was my son.”

DiNozzo nodded. “McGee checked the building permits. This place is supposed to have a storm shelter. And a barn, but I don't see any sign of the barn from here. It probably came down, since the pictures made it look like a good breeze would knock it over. I want to check the storm shelter, and then we're good to go.”

“I suppose it would have been too easy to find him here.”

“Not necessarily. I mean, buying the land in Jake's name is a bit stupid, but then not everyone would have known about that. In fact, since he was using the name Kennedy when he came and it was just a fluke Ducky was here to call him Jakob and ruin the whole thing, most people wouldn't have known to look for him here,” DiNozzo said, leading her around the house. “Come on. That door should be right around... here.”

Ellie gave the heavy metal doors a glance. “I don't like this. The rest of this place is in total disrepair, but that seems newer. It's not the slightest bit rusted.”

“Yeah,” DiNozzo agreed, taking his gun back out. “Think you can lift one of them?”

Ellie rolled her eyes and went to pull it up. DiNozzo took a step forward, looking down at the stairs. He took a breath and started down, leaving Ellie very little choice but to follow after him again.


	21. Findings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ducky finds something in the emails. Ellie and DiNozzo make a different discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having one of those... rough weeks where nothing seems to go right. (That does include writing, sadly.) I'm a mess, really, and I don't know that it's healthy or anything, but I was able to write a second chapter today, and I'm not feeling much like holding it back even if it would ensure daily updates or something. I might need to finish this fast for the sake of my sanity or something.
> 
> I still wish I could have done that with my other story. I think about it and feel guilty and yet still make no progress on it. This... maybe I can finish this.

* * *

“Something is bothering me about these emails and chats,” Ducky said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He'd been pouring over pages of them, and the text was starting to blur, but he did think he agreed with Abigail. This was not what it should have been.

“In what sense?” Timothy asked, looking up from his computer searches in frustration. “I know I haven't found anything yet, but it would really help if this kid didn't have the same name as a famous drummer and was more original in his username than Darkness45.”

“Well, that is in part my concern,” Ducky said. “Darkness45 doesn't talk like previous members of the Calling. When I looked at the logs from Bradley Simek's computer, we had something more... vicious in many respects. It was not just the harassment they used against the young Korkmaz girl to get her to rejoin their group. It was in the messages to Bradley and many other communications.”

“I'm still not sure I understand,” Timothy said, “but then I didn't get to read much of the logs. I tried after Gibbs was shot and Budd went off the grid, but it wasn't anything I found I could use.”

“I think I know,” Elanor said, trying to sit up in her bed, and Abigail rushed over to stop her, but she waved her off. “I don't want to spend my entire time in bed, and I'm fine. The knife missed major organs... all of that...”

“It looked bad,” Abigail said. “And you had to have surgery.”

“It was a serious wound,” Ducky agreed. “Though it could have been much worse. I suspect the weakness in Jakob's injured hand had something to do with that.”

“I can believe that,” Elanor said. “He was fighting them, tried to stop them... first when they broke his fingers, then when they made him take the knife...”

“Still, Ellie, it's messed up, them making him do that to you.”

She nodded. “It was, but back to the emails... They were... hostile. Vicious. Part of it was... tearing the kids down.”

“Ah, now, you are quite correct,” Ducky said. “It's actually a classic technique. Tear them down to rebuild them. It was a standard training technique for multiple branches of the military and quite a few other services. The Calling was destroying the self-worth of these children to use them, make them feel they needed to be a part of the group, make them desperate for acceptance.”

“And now?” Timothy asked. “They went after the same kind of vulnerable kids as before, didn't they? That's how they got at least one of them.”

“Micheal Lucas, yes,” Ducky agreed, “but DI Hardy pegged the first recruit as a sociopath. Someone like that would not be very accepting of this tear down method, and he did not use it to lure in Micheal, either. The Calling would seem to be quite altered since the death of Daniel Budd.”

“That makes sense,” Timothy said. “Someone new had to have taken over leadership, so it's not a surprise, though... their method of recruitment was working. Why mess with that? They were still similar enough for their behavior to be flagged by the NSA. That's supposedly why Jake was here.”

“You think he was lying about that?” Abigail asked, frowning. “I know he lied about a lot—his name, his father—but we don't think he made up the chatter or something, do we? Why? And... if he did, why does Micheal Lucas look like someone who was recruited into the Calling before attacking his parents? Who fed Keith Moon the recruitment talk? That wasn't something he got on his own.”

“I know, and I am still trying to track down the real user of that email account, but he's buried himself good. Like... the old Calling good, so that still seems like them,” Timothy said. “It fits. It's just... everything gets a little weird with Jake not actually being Jake and having this insane creep of a father—”

“Who denied being involved in the Calling,” Elanor said. “I don't think it was him. We all know... it would have been easier... get at Jake other ways. This is different. We don't know how yet or why... but it is.”

“Timothy,” Ducky broke in, “might I suggest we try doing some searches for the revised methods of recruitment? It may help us find Keith Moon.”

“Yes, of course,” Timothy agreed. “I'll set up a new algorithm.”

* * *

“Bastard is in there gloating,” Hardy muttered, leaning against the wall and running a hand over his face. He needed air. He could use something to destroy, too, papers to rip apart or throw about, anything to get the tension out of him after being in that room. “Smug little shit. Makes me want to do something that'll fry the damned pacemaker.”

Gibbs grunted. “We're not done yet. He stalls. We stall. We should have a hell of a lot more than he does when this is over.”

Hardy didn't look at him. He knew they still planned on finding Kennedy and using him against his father. Dewhurst seemed to think he could beat that, though. “I'm aware of that. He can drag as many people up as he wants to try and discredit his son, but there will still be people who know that believe him. The only reason that irritating bastard is crazy is because his father made him that way.”

“Malloy isn't crazy.”

“He's paranoid and suffers from PTSD. He'll look crazy. Even acts it some, as afraid of that man as he is,” Hardy said, defending his position. People would think Kennedy was crazy, but that did actually work for them. “Any good prosecutor would point that out, though. They'd build their case around the abuse he suffered at his father's hands and how much it damaged him.”

“If we find him in time to put him on the stand,” Gibbs said, and Hardy looked at him. “Is that what worries you? Or do you think he's still too scared of his father to talk?”

Hardy shook his head. “No. The hold his father had on him isn't as strong now. It can't be.”

“Seemed strong enough on that tape.”

“The man refused to say anything to me for days despite looking like a bloody suspect in a murder because he was afraid of this bastard finding him and people knowing what he'd done to him. His worst nightmare is already happening. His father got him back. And people know. Dewhurst can't use that against him anymore. He'd get up there. He'd testify. Question is—is his father so obsessed with him he'd keep him alive? He's a liability. He knows too much. Has connections now. Dewhurst is going to do his best to make him look unstable, but we have a recording. We have three witnesses that are not him that know that he threatened his son.”

“How is your daughter?”

Hardy grunted. “They're still doing tests.”

“They think she has the same heart condition?”

Hardy nodded. “Don't think it's genetic, and even if it was, she's a hell of a lot younger than I was when it showed itself. Doesn't fit.”

“Not everything does.”

Hardy pushed away from the wall. He didn't want to think about that right now. He didn't want to believe Daisy had the same thing he did. The doctors were wrong. “I want to break this bastard.”

Gibbs nodded. “Me, too.” 

Hardy looked back at him. “You think we need his son for that?”

Gibbs shrugged. “We need more than we have now. He's been able to twist everything we've had so far. Have to find something that he can't manipulate.”

Hardy knew that, too. He just didn't know what the hell it was. Except... “Your agent. She knows his family.”

“Not this family.”

“I know that,” Hardy almost snapped. “The one he had at the NSA. He said he had someone he considered like a brother. That one warned him off coming here. He's the same one who got him out of the country and to the NSA in the first place. That one knows more than anyone else besides Kennedy himself. We don't have him, but we could at least talk to that one. Or the arsehole he calls his father that threatened to give Kennedy to this bastard when he wanted to look into the damned Calling.”

Gibbs grunted. “Bishop would have his name. That doesn't mean he will be willing to tell us anything.”

“He might not have to,” Hardy said. “We're stalling. We keep on stalling.”

* * *

“Damn. It is like a haunted house and a medieval torture chamber met and had an accident in traffic down here,” DiNozzo muttered, taking another cautious step through the basement. Ellie had to say this was a bit more than a storm shelter. She thought this went under the whole house, though she'd confirm that later.

“I don't like the decorations, but then they almost seem like what you'd expect someone who systematically tortured his son to have hiding around. Some of them almost look authentic, like antiques they'd have had in the family.”

DiNozzo nodded. “Yes, but make sure you ask Ducky about them. I think he can tell you hours worth of stories about half of them being hoaxes and the rest not being medieval torture at all.”

He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. Ellie went to open it, letting him cover it with his weapon before stepping inside. He swore, holstering the gun again as he went forward. Ellie took in the small room, crumbling walls and dirt floor, wincing when she saw the man in the middle of it.

Kennedy was a mess, blood dripping down from marks on his wrists, and he seemed to be covered in bruises and cuts, shuddering and apparently muttering to himself as he rocked.

“Jake?”

That got him to jerk and he jumped back, hitting the wall and whimpering. “They didn't talk before. Didn't.”

“Jake, it's Tony. You remember? Tony DiNozzo. I work with Bishop. Your ex-wife.”

“Tony?” Kennedy lifted his head and bumped the wall again. “There's something behind you.”

Ellie frowned. She was on the other side of the room from DiNozzo now, and she didn't even see much of a shadow thanks to the strange light in here. “The door?”

“No, it was big and black and had teeth and—wait. I could see it. It was clear and... I don't have my glasses. It can't be clear,” Kennedy said, putting his hands in his hair and pulling on it.

“Easy now,” DiNozzo said. “There's nothing there, okay? You just need to calm down, all right? Take a deep breath and—”

“It's on me again,” Kennedy moaned, squirming and trying to scratch at his skin. “It's all over me. Get it off. Get it off.”

“Jake,” DiNozzo said, reaching for him. “It's dirt. It's on you because you're naked. You need to calm down so we can get you out of here.”

“Don't touch me,” Kennedy said, hitting the wall again. He lifted up his hands and stared at them. “What happened to the rope? There was rope. He had me tied... I don't understand. Where did the rope go?”

“Um, buddy, I think you happened to the rope,” Tony said, and Ellie winced, not sure if the man had chewed through part of it or just twisted enough to free himself. “Look, you need to try and stay calm. I can pretty much guarantee you were drugged, but you need to stay calm so we can get you out of here and off whatever it is.”

Kennedy trembled. “He... he made me drink something... tried to stop him... hurt me...”

“I know.”

“Don't,” Kennedy said, panicking again when DiNozzo tried to help him. “Don't touch me. I won't... not with you. No. Not doing that. Not again...”

“Kennedy,” Ellie said, going closer herself, thinking it might help if it wasn't a man this time or at least someone without a tie to his past. “It's DS Miller. You remember me?”

“I'm sorry. Sorry about it... I didn't want to lie but he found me... it was bad... I can't feel my fingers... or my feet. Did he break my feet again? Why is this room green? Am I seeing things again? I don't... he drugged me. I remember he forced me to drink something, said there would be pain...”

“Yeah, I think he let you do most of that to yourself,” Ellie told him with pity. “Your hand is swollen, and those fingers are broken. I can't tell about your feet, though you have moved around a bit since we got here. Can you try and calm yourself? Do the breathing like when you were at the station. Count for us.”

“Counting brings the monsters back,” Kennedy said, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. “I can't stop it. I can feel them on me...”

“I'm getting Ducky,” DiNozzo said. “Be careful. He could... panic.”

Ellie nodded, well aware that in his current state Kennedy could be dangerous. He didn't mean to be, but he was tormented by things only he could see and unable to stop them. God knew what his father had drugged him with, but it probably would have given everyone the impression he was just as insane as his father claimed.

“Don't let him touch me. Please.”

“No one is going to touch you, though I'd like to get you a blanket and out of this cellar,” Ellie told him. “You need a doctor—”

“No. They were almost as bad as he was. Family doctor... such a lie... that one was... he was like him... so sick...”

“This won't be the same man,” Ellie assured him. “Your father can't touch you now.”

“That was what I thought when I got away from him... was all a lie... he was right... never free...”

“Not before, but this time, you can bet we're going to make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison. We've got him for kidnapping at the very least, but I think you know a lot more than that about him, don't you?”

Kennedy shook his head. “Can't... seeing things... not the first time... can't... think I'm crazy... lying... doing it for attention...”

“Not me,” Ellie insisted, reaching over to put her hand close to Kennedy's, careful not to let the brush of their hands feel threatening. “I know better, and I am not going to let him do this to you or anyone else. Did... were you ever aware of him harming others?”

Kennedy teetered a bit, almost falling over. “I saw her once... in the doorway... looked over... she was there... saw what he was doing... walked away...”

Ellie tried to control her reaction to that. It wasn't what she'd asked, but that didn't make it any less horrifying. Damn it. She couldn't help thinking of Susan Wright and her claims not to know, as much as Ellie hadn't, but Kennedy's mother—she had. She'd seen it. She'd turned her back on her son. How could any mother do that?

“Think I'm bleeding again.”

She nodded. He was. “Your wrists are bad, and you have a lot of other scratches and cuts.”

“Please don't tell them,” Kennedy begged, and she frowned, not sure what he was talking about. “Please don't tell them about this.”

Ellie shook her head. She wasn't going to make that promise. She was making sure that Dewhurst got arrested and stayed in jail. The drugs had to count as assault, and so did the broken fingers. They had enough. Dewhurst would be locked up even if they couldn't prove any of the stuff he'd done to his son when he was still a child.

“I was six the first time,” Kennedy said and whispered more in her ear. Ellie swore, knowing she'd like to kick the shit out of Dewhurst, too, just like she'd done Joe.


	22. Potential Setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back their witness/victim isn't all they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of the one scene for this last night, just after finishing the last update, and then I gave in to my fatigue and put it aside. I considered detailing all of the hospital scenes, but while they had some moments I liked, I found them difficult to write and thought they dragged this section out too much, and I wanted to get back to finding and stopping the Calling.
> 
> Jake did have a piece of that, though, and he needed to be able to share it.

* * *

“About damned time, Miller,” Hardy almost snapped as he took the call. He should have gotten this one hours ago. He'd had to leave his daughter and everyone else back in Broadchurch, and they hadn't had as far to drive to find that property in Malloy's name. Even if the grounds were extensive, he should have heard something hours ago, before he even started in with that arsehole Dewhurst.

“Sorry,” she said, and something in the background started beeping so loud he had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. He glanced toward Gibbs, assuming he was getting a similar briefing from his own people. He checked the phone again, and the noise was gone. “Miller—”

“Again, sorry,” she said. “It's a little crazy here right now.”

“I heard.”

“I'm at the hospital,” she went on, and he shook his head, annoyed. He was aware of that part, too, or could have guessed from the noise. “We searched the property.”

“And?”

“We found Kennedy.”

Hardy could tell that wasn't good from her tone alone. “Is he dead?”

“No, but... he's a mess. And before you say that you already knew that, this is different. His father worked him over, broke bones in both of his feet, cracked his ribs, and left him bound in a cellar,” Miller said. “That would have been bad enough, but he also drugged him with a powerful hallucinogen. He couldn't remember he was hurt, so he made his injuries worse... half the time he's aware he's hallucinating, but the rest of it... I'm not sure anyone would have treated him properly if Mallard wasn't here. More than one of the doctors was convinced he wasn't drugged—they think he's a schizophrenic who went _off_ his meds.”

“They have to run tests.”

“And they have.”

Hardy swore. “Are you telling me that they can't find the bloody drugs?”

“Not in a standard test, which was probably the point,” Miller said. “We talked about this, remember? He wanted us to find his son because he knew that when we did, Kennedy would seem insane. Every one of these doctors and nurses could have been a witness in his favor.”

“Damn it, Miller.”

“Abby, their forensics expert, said she had other tests she wanted to run, ones she thought could give us the answer the others hadn't. She's dealt with hard to detect toxins before,” Miller said. “Mallard is trying to arrange for a transfer to a private facility now.”

“How long before the drugs clear his system?”

“We have no way of knowing,” Miller answered. “We don't even know what he was given. He... he did say it wasn't the first time he'd been drugged. His father did this to him before, made everyone think he was crazy or acting out for attention.”

Hardy grunted. “He's got everyone's attention now.”

“I want this bastard, sir. I want him locked up for life.”

“I think we all want that, Miller.”

“Kennedy was so terrified he couldn't tell us anything. Now he's so drugged he can't stop himself from telling us—me, mainly, though they got his ex-wife here to help calm him—stuff, and even filtering out half of it because he's been drugged—it's horrific. He was only six when some of the worst of it started. Six. Danny was eleven. I remember screaming that at Joe... If I had my hands on that Dewhurst—”

“Aye, and that's why you're not here,” Hardy said, getting what might have been laughter from her. “It's not done, Miller. We still have work to do.”

“I know. As soon as Kennedy's settled, I'm going back to work on the Calling and finding Keith. I just refuse to let Dewhurst win. I'd like to arrest the mother, too. She knew. She bloody knew. She wasn't fooled like I was. She walked away and left him with his father.”

“I'd have arrested her when we were there if I had anything to hold her on,” Hardy said. “Have that computer one keep digging into Dewhurst's assets. There has to be something there. He didn't get those drugs through any legal means. Find the trail.”

“Oh, sure, take the easy part for yourself,” she muttered, hanging up, and Hardy shook his head, looking back at the door.

Nothing with this bastard was easy, that was for damned sure.

* * *

_It smelled like... manure, and he didn't understand. He never went outside, so how could it smell like manure? He shouldn't even know what that smelled like. He knew his family had stables. When he was younger, he used to dream of stealing one of the horses and riding off into the sunset._

_He knew he was never getting free. He barely left the house._

_His father grabbed hold of his shoulder, giving it a painful squeeze. “Come with me. I think it's past time you got properly acquainted with a riding crop.”_

He jerked awake, hearing machines screaming and feeling sick in an instant. His stomach started rolling, and he gagged, closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing even as his body heaved. He was going to puke. He couldn't stop it.

“Here, Jakob,” he heard someone say, and he would have looked up if he could have, but his stomach decided it was emptying itself, and he could only lean over the pan as everything—but nothing—came up and spilled out of him. “Easy now. That might actually help some.”

The heaving finally stopped, and Jake leaned back against the pillows. The room was still a little off, and he felt like he was falling even though he wasn't moving. He put a hand to his head and groaned. “What... where am I? No. Not a hospital. I can't—”

“This is a private facility,” Ducky assured him, and Jake tried to understand that. Everything was wrong. He had thought he was dreaming earlier, but he had to be now. He swallowed, and then the other figures in the room became clearer, and he scrambled up in the bed.

“Don't.”

“Relax, Jake,” DiNozzo told him. “Not only is there a truce because you were kidnapped by your very psychotic father, we've heard tale you're not actually a cheater, and no one here is going to hurt you.”

Jake shook his head. “This... it can't be right. He was...”

“Yeah, you got drugged,” Tony went on. “You were hallucinating things with teeth, and I'm pretty sure that memory loss goes along with that.”

Jake forced himself to stay still instead of shaking his head in disagreement. He knew he remembered everything from when his father dragged him away from Ellie to that cup he'd forced through his lips. Whatever that was, it was the last thing he knew, but that didn't mean he'd lost everything. He knew what had happened.

He'd been through this before, though it was worse then, surrounded by strangers and unable to convince anyone he wasn't crazy.

He didn't feel sane now. “I see... dots... moving around... is that the lights? Please tell me that is the lights.”

“That's you coming off the drugs, I fear,” Ducky said. “It was a powerful combination, and it will continue to affect you for some time. That was, we believe, its intention. In addition to being virtually untraceable, it has a good chance of giving you random flashbacks, such as those that might be suffered by someone who had taken LSD. It's something new and I fear rather dangerous. Your father—”

“Could care less if it hurt me or did permanent damage,” Jake finished, well aware of that part. “He should be here by now. Laughing. He always was before when it started getting clearer...” 

“Well, he's a bit busy at the moment, and he's not going to get out of custody any time soon,” Tony said. His face started changing shapes, and Jake pulled the blanket up over his head, refusing to watch.

“How many times before has he done this to you, Jakob?”

Jake didn't want to talk about that. He just wanted to forget. He shivered, getting no warmth from the blanket. He wondered if any of what he was seeing was real. He might not be in the hospital. They might not be real. They still hated him. He was not safe. None of them were.

“Wait. Was... Ellie. What happened to Ellie? And those girls from my class? Did he hurt them? I know he... Ellie—did I kill her? He—”

“Don't panic,” Tony said. “Bishop's fine. Well, after a bit of surgery, because she did get stabbed, but she's good. She should be in a bed of her own, and they weren't very happy with you getting her out of one, but she actually got you calm for a bit, which was good, because they wanted to sedate you, and who knows what that would have done with all the drugs already floating around in your system.”

“I don't...” 

“And the girls are fine. Dove off a pier, swam to safety, got help.”

“You're actually in the worst shape of anyone,” McGee said. “When the drugs wear off more, you'll start feeling it, too. Broken hand, broken foot, bunch of scrapes and bruises that may have been self-inflicted, and some cracked ribs.”

That couldn't be right. He'd had broken ribs before. They hurt more. “Am breathing fine.”

“You're still drugged to the hilt,” Tony said. “Trust us on that one. Last time you woke up, you were seeing floating pickles and sword wielding cacti.”

“What?”

“It was kind of hard to understand you,” McGee told him. “Your accent was all over the place, you were reversing American and English terminology, and the drugs were messing with your whole body, so... not much of what you said made sense. I'm not even sure Tony has the hallucinations right.”

“It's cold. Are we... it's not.. that's a cliché...”

“The drugs are doing weird things to your body temperature,” Miller said, crossing the room and bringing a blanket with her. “The other doctors thought that was why you didn't have any clothes when we found you, that you took them off.”

Jake shook his head. He knew that wasn't true. “Clothes... were a privilege... didn't always earn... Being cold... part of punishment.”

“Jake,” Ellie said with a wince, moving over to pull the blanket up over him. Miller backed off and let her tuck it in.

He watched her, the colors behind her spinning in dizzying patterns. “None of this is real, is it?”

Miller patted the blanket, careful not to touch him. “It's real. Your father left you behind, we found you, and we brought you to the hospital. None of us liked how they were treating you, so Doctor Mallard found us this place. You remember any of that?”

Jake had the feeling he didn't want to, not if he'd been humiliated again. He shook his head. “I was... I remember up to him forcing me to drink. After that... nothing. This can't be real, though. They hate me, and they're being nice. Even you hate me, and I... I... he's not laughing... he should be laughing by now.”

Ellie took his undamaged hand in her good one. That couldn't be right. She couldn't be here. She didn't have his hand. “He's not getting you again. None of us is going to let that happen.” 

He didn't know that he could believe that. Ellie should hate him. Her team should hate him. Miller and Hardy did, didn't they?

“That goes for us, too,” Miller said. “I know I told you that before, back in the basement, and even if you don't remember it, it's still true. Hardy won't rest until your father is behind bars, and he's not the only one.”

“No—”

“Even if you don't trust that Hardy would do that for you, your father made the mistake of threatening his daughter,” Miller went on. “She's all Hardy has, and Hardy isn't going to let this go. He will make sure your father stays behind bars for as long as possible.”

Jake swallowed. “Daisy. She's okay? Really okay?”

“I told you that she was,” Tony said. “Either you weren't listening or you really don't trust us.”

“Considering that you all admitted to threatening him over the whole cheating business, I don't blame him,” Miller said. She turned back to Jake. “Daisy and Chloe are fine. They kept Daisy a bit longer and gave everyone a fright, but she's all right now.”

Jake closed his eyes, trying to fight the nausea. “And Ellie? She is... actually here... in that chair... holding my hand?”

“You mean Agent Bishop?” Miller asked. He frowned. “My name is Ellie. It's a bit weird to hear someone else called by it, even if I know that it's not that uncommon a name.”

“Oh.”

“I've been going by Bishop,” Ellie told him. “It's fine. And yes, I am here, and I am holding your hand. I... Whatever else happened between us... no one deserves what your father did to you.”

“Oh, I don't know. I almost think my ex-husband deserves a bit of it,” Miller said. When everyone looked at her, she shrugged. “He killed our son's best friend. He was eleven years old. He said he... loved him. So, yeah, a bit. Maybe.”

Jake nodded. He closed his eyes, trying to find a way to make the colors stop changing around him. “The others... the men... the ones... working for... my father... Ellie, you... you shot one... the other...”

“I... I killed him,” Ellie said. “The other one... we don't know. We haven't seen any sign of him since your abduction. We went through CCTV. Didn't find him, though we think we did identify the car your father was using. It wasn't registered to him.”

“The plates were reported stolen a couple hours after you disappeared,” McGee said. “We know make and model, and we do have a registration for one like that owned by one of your father's companies, but it was supposedly totaled last week.”

“Was he there? At that house? Because we didn't find any trace of anyone besides you,” Miller told him. “We're not sure how long you were actually there.”

“I... I don't know,” Jake admitted. “I... I think there was another room... one with furniture. There should have been... I don't... did you find a body? He said... he said he'd dealt with him, but he never killed before... don't know... believe.”

Tony whistled. “Um, no. No body, not yet. You sure about that, Jakey boy?”

“There are things crawling on me, and I keep seeing colors that don't make sense, even with my eyes shut, but that conversation was... before... the drugs. I know... what he said,” Jake swallowed, feeling nauseous again. “He... implied it... but didn't... admit it... I don't know if that means... he did... or didn't... he... has never been... very honest... believing him... only hurts...”

“We'll keep looking for him,” Miller promised. “And speaking of looking, I've got to get back to that search for Keith Moon and the Calling.”

“Keleft.”

“What?”

“Hates American businesses... hates Americans, period... was... was in Dubai... think has terrorist ties... Not sure... never wanted... look too close at any of his friends... thought... would make him find me...” Jake winced. “Did... he did... he was in Dubai...”

“Jake, you're going to hurt yourself again,” Ellie said. “I don't think you even realize how badly you're squirming. Try and calm down.”

“It's probably best if you try and sleep,” Ducky said. “You need rest regardless, but those drugs haven't cleared your system, and until they do, you won't be doing much of any healing. You should not be laying like that in your condition.”

“Don't touch me.”

“Please lie flat on your back,” Ducky said. “He hit your side rather hard—I'm assuming because you turned to have some sort of defense against him—and that is where the cracks in your ribs are. You will do more damage to yourself at this rate.”

Jake shuddered. He didn't want to sleep. His nightmares were bad enough without the drugs.


	23. Other Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lead is followed, though not without some confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found a way to tie in a few other pieces I'd mentioned before, and now it all has these links, which is something, but there's still this part of me that is saying, "never do anything this crazy again."
> 
> I only barely pulled it off this time, and I think my Doctor Who crossover makes more sense, even if it's still very convoluted.

* * *

“Damn, he's a mess,” DiNozzo muttered, shutting the door behind them, and Ellie gave him a look. He shrugged. “Sorry. It's just... well, he is. Better than the last time he woke, but not good.”

“Nevertheless, I think you should look into what he said about this Keleft person,” Mallard told him. “It may be nothing, but it is possible that there is a connection there, and since we are having trouble pinning down the Calling, we could use whatever we can get.”

Ellie nodded. She was about to say the same thing herself. “I'm going to get some officers to search the grounds at that house again as well as a few out on the water. If his father did kill that man that was working for him, that would give us a lot more to work with, a charge that's going to keep him in jail for the rest of his life. He should get it for what he did to his son, but that's going to be harder to make stick.”

“Whatever we do to him, it's going to stick,” DiNozzo said. “Gibbs won't stand for anything less, and this guy's sick. He is not walking free, not after what he's done.”

McGee nodded. “Even if he had cheated on Bishop, Jake did not deserve that.”

Ellie looked over at Mallard. “How is your brother?”

“He accepted his room here rather well,” Mallard said. “Too well, in some sense, but for now I'm grateful he took to the place after all that's happened. I haven't been able to help him, to be there as I should have been.”

“Sorry we pulled you away from your vacation, Ducky,” DiNozzo told him, but the other man shook his head.

“I was involved before you were, Anthony, and in some sense, I do not regret it. None of us want the Calling to be able to to regain its hold on the world's youth, and stopping Jakob's father is also of great importance. I regret that Nicholas was sidelined because of it, but in his current state, I'm not entirely sure he noticed. That's both a blessing and a curse.”

The silence following that was a bit awkward, and Ellie ended up clearing her throat. “Well, I have some searches to organize, plus I want to check on Daisy, Chloe, and my own children. If you find out anything about Keleft, let me know.”

“Absolutely,” DiNozzo promised her. “In fact, if I know McObsessive over there, we might even have something already.”

Ellie frowned. “Are you kidding?”

“It's McGee. He started the search as soon as he heard the name.”

She looked at the other agent, who grimaced but nodded. “I did. Well, not as soon as I heard the name, but when he said this guy had terrorist ties, I started looking into him. I found a Keleft that was at one point a business partner with Lord Dewhurst in an import/export company. I'd assume that's the one Jake was talking about. I haven't gotten much else yet, just a few details on the company—Keleft had controlling interest, but Dewhurst forced him out and dissolved the company after rebranding it in a completely different direction.”

Ellie wasn't sure any of that mattered. “If he didn't want it, why take control of it? And rebrand it? What does that even mean?”

“Let me guess,” DiNozzo said. “The import/export business did trade in the middle east, was rumored to have terrorist ties, and Dewhurst noped the hell out of that one, changing the company's direction to avoid the scandal before burying it for good.”

“It's a good possibility,” McGee said. “Though if Jake's father was tied to terrorism before, it's strange he didn't pursue that as a way to stop his father years ago.”

“You're assuming he thought he could prove it,” Mallard said. “Remember, Timothy, this man abused Jakob over several years, physically and mentally. He has used drugs like this on him before to make him appear unstable and prevent others from listening to him. If Jakob did not feel he had an airtight case against him, I doubt he would have made any attempt to go near him, thinking it best to continue to avoid him and stay in the safety afforded by his position at the NSA. That same position would be—was, in fact—jeopardized when his past was known, and that was before his father shed doubts on his mental stability. Just being known to have been with Keleft in Dubai had Jakob on the radar of the internal affairs agent. Jakob may have hoped that the connection would lead to his father's arrest, but he would not have taken active steps that could have been traced back to him.”

Ellie thought she agreed with that. “Just keep digging. Don't stop with Keleft's records—we still need more on Dewhurst.”

“What about that Oxford pin?” Mallard asked. “Do you believe it has any connection to Moon or his killer?”

“Oxford pin?”

“It seemed unconnected to Keith Moon, though I did wonder if it was connected to Kennedy after you mentioned his Oxford accent, but it doesn't fit with him leaving all of that behind like he had to do,” Ellie admitted. “I hadn't done much to pursue that angle, but Kennedy's kidnapping did overshadow just about everything.”

“I agree it's unlikely Jakob would carry any such memento, since he has done so much to disavow his past, but I do wonder if it was not placed there with some sort of intent.”

“Are we going back to the idea that his father wanted us to find him?” DiNozzo asked. “Because I am pretty sure that Dewhurst did not want Jake arrested for murder and we all agreed he wasn't connected to the Calling—didn't we?”

“I'm not saying that either thing relates to Dewhurst, but if someone from the Calling was connected to a friend of Dewhurst's, this Keleft, there may be ties to Oxford as well,” Mallard said. “If you get the chance when Jakob is awake again, DS Miller, I think you should see if he knows that item or remembers anyone with a particular habit of wearing it.”

“I'll do that,” Ellie agreed. “Though it could still have been a random tourist's, and we're reasonably sure that Moon's body was staged from the water.”

“Dewhurst used a boat to fake an alibi in France,” DiNozzo said. “Which reminds me—do we have a warrant for that boat yet? Did we even find the boat?”

McGee sighed. “I suppose you want me to do that, too, don't you?”

* * *

“You know they're saying there's a serial killer on the loose.”

Miller stopped in the doorway, and Daisy almost regretted saying it, but she thought maybe they should know. Maybe Chloe's mom would have said something, since she seemed to want to get Miller alone to talk, but Daisy didn't know. All she did know was that people kept sending her messages about it, and she found it almost as annoying as her time in the hospital.

They still hadn't given her all the results of those tests, either, but they'd been bloody awful, and she never wanted to do another one again.

She picked up DS, glad Chloe's mum was willing to let her keep the cat here while she was here and held onto him as Chloe explained.

“It's 'cause Mr. Kennedy went missing and there was that guy what died,” Chloe said. “People either think he's the killer—because a lot of them saw him with you and Daisy's dad or at the station—and others think he died. That one guy did die, so everyone's freaking out in town.”

Miller winced. “Unbelievable. Is this just what people are saying?”

Daisy shrugged. “I haven't read any papers, and I've been avoiding social media because everyone assumes I know because of who my dad is.”

“We wanted to shut her phone off, it was so bad,” Chloe said, “but with her dad gone and the hospital, we didn't.”

Daisy shook her head. “If I get one more text message, I just might. I'll warn Dad before I do, but I hate it. We're just lucky no one knows why I had to go to the hospital.”

Chloe winced. “Some of them do. I'm surprised it's not everywhere.”

Miller sighed. “I'll have to find time to talk to Maggie and get a press release done.”

“Is Mr. Kennedy dead?”

Miller tensed, and DS gave a hiss of protest when Daisy accidentally squeezed him too hard. She had liked her teacher. She didn't want anything bad to happen to him, but now he was dead. That couldn't be right.

“Oh, hell,” Miller muttered. “No, he's not dead, but you definitely have to keep that to yourselves. He's not... he went through a lot, and we need to make sure we can build a case against his father, so don't tell anyone we have him. We can't risk that.”

“Can we see him?” Chloe asked. “It... I mean, you let us see his ex-wife so we knew she was okay after she got stabbed, and that's all we want now. Just to know he's okay, to see it.”

“Not right now,” Miller said. “We need to keep his location a bit of a secret, and taking you there would attract a lot of notice. Plus... he's not in a state to have visitors.”

“How bad was it? Is he like... disfigured?”

“No, but he was drugged, and he's still hallucinating, so it's better if he's not around a lot of people,” Miller said. “I'm glad both of you are okay, but I want another quick word with Tom before I get back to work, and I need to go.”

“Of course.”

Daisy watched her go, shaking her head and petting the cat again. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that bit about the serial killer.”

“It's true, though,” Chloe said. “It's what everyone's saying since no one knows what's going on. I just... I wish we could do something to shut up the ones that are saying it's Kennedy what did it, because he didn't.”

“At least he's alive,” Daisy said. “I was afraid, after all his father said, that he'd be dead when they found him, if they ever did.”

Chloe nodded. “Still... I suppose he won't be back as our teacher after this.”

* * *

“I don't understand how he did it.”

“In the library with the candlestick, McConfused,” Anthony said, getting a glare from Timothy. Ducky shook his head at both of them, not sure what had caused the squabbling this time, as he himself had just returned from checking on his brother, who seemed overly eager to play with toy trains today.

“Very funny, Tony.”

“All right, lay it on me, McGrumpy,” Anthony told him. “What don't you understand, and why is it so important that teasing you gets the imitation Gibbs death glare you're trying to perfect?”

Timothy frowned, but Ducky held up a hand, trying to forestall whatever else might be coming. “I, too, am curious. What is it that has you perplexed? Perhaps what you need is a sounding board, and we are both available for that.”

“Especially since we can't find proof Dewhurst owns a boat,” Anthony added, sounding frustrated. “I know he has to have one, no way he was pulling that stunt with France without one, but I can't find the registration in his name or any of his companies that you already dug up. There has to be another one or something.”

“Indeed,” Ducky said. They would have to find that boat to prove their theory about Dewhurst's alibi, and they had to prove it or he would have everyone thinking Jakob was, in fact, insane.

“I meant I didn't understand how Jake could be more than half out of his head and still manage to give us the part of the puzzle we needed,” Timothy said, shaking his head. “I've been tracking Keleft's financial records since I got the name, and he has made several donations to anti-American organizations over the years.”

“Yeah, that's what Jake told us. It's not necessarily proof, though. That's like saying everyone who likes the Packers eats a lot of cheese. It's possible, but it's not a guarantee.”

Timothy stared at him for a minute before shaking his head. “I know that. That's not what I—Keleft's donations to the anti-American organizations dropped off about a year ago, shortly after a trip to Dubai.”

“That trip to Dubai? So, what, Keleft got scared straight after the bombing?”

Timothy shook his head. “Money is still going out, but not to anywhere we can track like that. He's funneling thousands of dollars out of his business a month, but with no obvious expenses. He's not buying new cars or property or anything. He's been taking at least as much as he took from the other organizations as he was donating before.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, McGee, this isn't proof.”

“No, but up until a couple months ago, Keleft had been dining out at least once a week at a restaurant that's a suspected terrorist front,” Timothy said. “I asked Delilah if she could get me anything more about him, and I got the impression he's on the DOD's radar, too.”

“Well, if the NSA wasn't being so stingy with information, we'd probably have confirmation by now, but since they're not talking, we'll have to get a few more pieces ourselves,” Anthony said. “Where is Keleft now?”

“That's just it,” Timothy said. “No one knows.”

* * *

“This probably isn't a good idea,” Bishop said. “He's been having some really, really bad dreams. And it takes him longer to calm down each time. It's like he forgot he had that conversation with us earlier... he still thinks I'm not sitting here.”

“Technically, my dear, you should be lying down,” Ducky told her, and she grimaced but didn't move. Tony didn't think she had any plans to do that. None of them really wanted her leaving Jake's side, since her and Miller were the only ones that had managed to get through to him when he was wigging, and on this stuff, all he did was wig.

“I'm fine,” she insisted. “It missed everything vital, and the surgery was minor.”

“It was still surgery, Bish,” Tony said, and she gave him a look. He shrugged. It was a little weird to see her back devoted this much to the ex when she'd spent the better part of the last year convincing everyone she was completely over Jake and might even have had someone else on the side she wasn't telling them about. “Look, we hit more walls, McGee's doing his frustrated dance, and if I can't prove Dewhurst had a boat in the area in the next hour, the locals will let him walk. None of us wants that to happen.”

“Jake is still our best source of information unless one of your sources in the NSA has given you something,” McGee told her. “Delilah promised she'd get me what she could, but she's not getting much cooperation outside of the DOD, either.”

Bishop sighed, shaking her head. “If you knew the man who'd claimed to be Jake's father—not Dewhurst, I'm talking about the man everyone let me think was Jake's father while we were married—you'd understand that a bit more. He's high level and more of the sort of person who does give the NSA their bad reputation. He's a control freak, and the accusations of nepotism, while obvious, never led anywhere.”

“Nepotism?”

“Jake and his half-brother—or the man Jake let me think was his half-brother—worked there, too. Taylor is a field agent, and Jake was head of their legal department, so... Yeah, it looked a bit unfair, but no one ever did anything about it.”

Tony frowned. “Why are we only now hearing about Jake's family of spies?”

“Because Jake wasn't close to them, for reasons that are clear now but were a little cloudy before,” Bishop answered. “We went on vacation with them one year, but most of the time, we spent those days with my family. Never his. We did more with his brother, rarely his father or stepmother, and now when I look back on that trip, it wasn't even the chatter about the DC airports that was bothering him on the way to Turks. It was being out of the country again. A part of me even wonders if they were running some kind of side op while they were there because his 'dad' and 'brother' more or less disappeared for part of the trip.”

“What a tangled web you were living, Jakob,” Ducky said, and Tony looked over to see that Jake's eyes were open again. “How are you feeling now?”

“Is someone playing music?”

“No.”

“I didn't think they were,” Jake said, closing his eyes with a wince. “You're sure it's not Abby's music? Sounds like Abby's music.”

“No one is playing music,” Bishop told him. “Jake, we need your help again. Does your father own a boat?”

Jake looked up at the ceiling. “Is that dripping? It seems like... That's the music. Oh, damn that hurts...”

“Told you,” Bishop muttered. She took his hand. “Jake, it's a hallucination. You've been drugged. Your father—your real father—did this to you. You remember that?”

Jake winced, trying to turn on his side, and she stopped him before he could hit the bruises Tony had seen when he found him. “Is he here?”

“No, he's in custody, but we have to find his boat, fast, or they will let him go.”

Jake shook his head. “He... hates the water... no boats. Flies everywhere. Won't even... take the chunnel...”

“Try and focus, buddy.”

“He is, Anthony,” Ducky said. “The chunnel is a nickname for the rail tunnel that connects Folkestone with Coquelles, going beneath the English Channel. He's saying his father won't even risk that because of the water.”

“Great,” Tony wondered, not sure how they'd prove any of that, unless maybe he'd faked his way on that train. A disguise, maybe, but with facial recognition, that probably wouldn't have worked.

“Lies,” Jake said, and Tony looked back at him. “Remember... sailing... not... sailing... tied to the mast... not... he was fine. He laughed. Boat was... wasn't his.”

“He seriously gave himself a cover of hating water?” McGee asked. “You know it's a lie. Other people must, too. If it wasn't his boat—”

Jake snorted. “Exactly how sane do I seem right now? No one believed me about the boat. Or what he did on it.”

“Yeah, but his friends know,” Tony said. “You don't happen to remember which one of them owned the boat, do you?”

“Sailboat, no. Other boats... replica Viking one... was a barge...” Jake flinched, trying to scratch at his skin again. “I... was somewhere once... wouldn't stop rocking... kept thinking... was boat... but Keleft... said boats were for... capitalists... he said that was what... they were... even if Keleft... was a cheap one...”

“Keleft owns a boat?”

“I don't... maybe...” 

“That's not very—” McGee stopped himself. “Do you think you'd remember if you weren't on the drugs? Could we ask you again after more of them are out of your system?”

Jake shook his head. “Lasts... weeks... and... even then, no. I didn't get to... he controlled... how left house... if I did... almost never did... rarely knew was out of it... until it was... too late. Tried to escape... too many times for him... to trust me.”

Tony winced. He tried not to think too much of his own childhood, but he'd been rather lucky in some respects. “So... you just woke up on this boat that might have belonged to Keleft?”

Jake nodded. “Yes.”

“McGee, did you find any record of Keleft owning a boat? Maybe with his import/export business?”

“Um...” McGee checked his tablet, frowning as he did. “Not for the import/export business, not for any of the others he started up after he broke ties with Dewhurst...”

“It would have been earlier than that.”

McGee nodded. “I know that, Tony. I'm not an idiot. I did look at boats as a possibility for Keleft since we didn't know where to look for him, but there wasn't anything in his name or in any of the business names.”

“Try... name he had... before... his conversion.”

“What?”

Jake swallowed. “Keleft... born in England... I think. Could be wrong, but... I think he took another name later.”

“Like Cat Stevens?” Tony asked, thinking about that whole deportation thing he'd heard about and other accusations people had made about the singer. He didn't think they were true, but either way, the man did make the DHS watch list.

“No cat here. Very allergic.”

Tony resisted the urge to Gibbs-slap him. It wasn't his fault, and he might just be more irritated with McGee right now. How had he missed something like that? A whole other name? It wasn't even like it was the first time on this case. Jake apparently had three. 

“Find Keleft's birth name,” Tony ordered McGee. “I'm going to get a hold of Miller and see if she can get us help in finding this damned boat.”


	24. Not Quite in Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are found, but answers are still missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was all proud of my links. And then I realized... I hadn't explained any of them. Oops.

* * *

“A boat,” Ellie repeated, blinking for a moment as she tried to make sense of the agent's words. She had just gotten off the phone with the officers at the house, who said they found nothing, and Brian was going to kill her when she asked for forensics to go over the grounds again for what they might have messed. “You think Keleft is on a boat.”

“Keleft, or rather John George, as he was christened back when he was born to a couple of upstanding English citizens that wanted to forget their past as refugees and create a whole new life in their new home—parents didn't do any favors, name was not only boring, it didn't do anything to change his ethnicity—owns not just one but several boats,” DiNozzo reported. “Most of them belong to a business he still owns under his birth name despite legally changing his to Salwa Keleft. One of them, however, is not even close to being for commercial use.”

“It looks like this,” McGee said, flipping his tablet to show it to her.

Ellie rubbed her head. “That is a yacht. That yacht belongs to Keleft?”

“Is it the price tag that bothers you?” DiNozzo asked. “It was enough to make McGreedy's eyes over there almost pop out of his skull. I told him they're not actually as impressive as he thinks. Though... I have to say there's nothing quite like being in a jacuzzi on a yacht.”

“That yacht is twice the size of the boats that usually moor in Broadchurch,” Ellie said. She couldn't be sure, not from the picture, but it looked like it was at least a hundred foot, maybe hundred fifty. “There is no way that boat has been anywhere near here. People would have talked about it for weeks on the size alone.”

“Add in the price tag, and no one would have shut up,” DiNozzo said. “Except... this beautiful little Proteksan probably has its own shore craft. That wouldn't have gotten as much notice.”

Ellie conceded that. “True, but that's still not enough to prove its anywhere near here, and a boat that big would need a crew.”

“Of helpful, eagerly impressed youth?” DiNozzo suggested. “Because we could start a bet about whether or not he used his ill-gotten gains to lure them into a life of terrorism and violence. Or whether or not Keith Moon is there, on said yacht, as we speak?”

Ellie sighed. “Most of the officers in this office are busy trying to find any trace of the man working for Dewhurst. I am currently dodging my CS who doesn't believe in the Calling angle and would like to shut down this entire case, the town is convinced our kidnapping victim is a serial killer, and you want me to pull resources I don't have to search the water for a ship we don't know is even in British territorial waters.”

“Okay, first off, we get you're stressed, and none of us envy you the position you're in, especially since your boss left you with all of us, which if Kate were still alive or Ziva around, you'd be told you deserved hazard pay or a medal—a weapon, Ziva'd give you a weapon—but McGee here is going to give you conclusive proof that our boy Keleft is connected to the terrorists and in the area.”

“I am?”

Ellie put her head in her hands, almost missing when she just had a knob of a boss and an impossible case to deal with, since Hardy was more than enough of a pain on his own. “You are aware that they're releasing Dewhurst in less than an hour. I have both your boss and mine demanding something we can use—”

“Believe me, we know pissed Gibbs is,” DiNozzo assured her. “And McGee here is a little overworked and overtired. I'd say underpaid but he's a famous writer in another life, so... he's not. Underpaid, at least.”

“DiNozzo—”

“Your local marina has a record of the yacht's shore craft here a month ago,” McGee said. “I know, I know, that's not a connection to the night Jake was taken or anything to do with Moon, but we know it has at least been nearby.”

“And if someone happened to notice that security at said marina was a bit lax and chose to moor their boat without authorization?” DiNozzo asked. “Because I'm thinking if we were to check any CCTV for that same docking slip, we'd find a boat there for all of the nights in question. Maybe we should have a chat with their security guard. I'm thinking someone might have gotten a little extra pay for leaving a boat name or two off the list.”

“And if you had that, it would help, but even that is not going to keep Dewhurst in custody.”

“It will if we find Keleft's boat.”

* * *

“I have a new appreciation for having the US Navy willing to assist us with our investigations. I mean, most of the time, we need a ship, we ask, and they jet us off to the closest available one. Well, assuming it's not going to interfere with on-going military operations and is related to a case.” Tony shook his head. “I swear I never felt this handicapped, even when I was in smaller departments as a cop. If not for your computer skills, we probably would have been shut out of this case a long time ago, even if it should be ours.”

“The Calling is ours,” McGee said. “We don't have all the resources we would have if we were working at home, but we are still investigating them. We have to have local cooperation, but that's really not that new. It's just that the closest NCIS office is closer to Gibbs right now than us.”

Tony mused. He shook his head. “Didn't even get to watch it this time.”

“You wanted to be there for the take down?”

“Nothing quite like seeing a SEAL team or marines storm a boat,” Tony said with a grin. “Would have been more interesting to see this one. Unless it's a myth that British cops don't carry guns. It's not a myth, is it?”

McGee shook his head, and Tony grinned. It would have been something to see. Could even have been a bloodbath, though he wouldn't have wanted to see that. He had to wonder if the terrorists would have been prepared to blow up the boat. Would have been a shame to lose a yacht that nice, but then terrorists weren't really about the luxuries, were they?

Not that it was all about terrorists. This one actually had Jake's psycho father all over it. And Tony would bet good money he had been the one to buy it. Tony didn't believe for a minute that Keleft got that thing on his own. Dewhurst probably created that company, and he probably used Keleft as a business partner fully intending to dump the mess on him if anything went wrong. He'd still made sure to cover his tracks, putting the yacht in in Keleft's name, his original name, so neither of them would be easily connected to it.

The whole lie about his fear of water, that was a long term plan. This guy was sick, but not stupid. He'd found a way years ago to conceal his movements and motives, a whole method of travel people assumed was unavailable to him. They didn't try and track him that way, not anything by water, but he was moving all kinds of pieces that way. It wasn't just him. He could have had Jake out of the country and hidden where they'd never find him again.

He hadn't, because he would have had to run if he had, and he'd bet everything on being able to convince everyone Jake was crazy. He had to, with as many other witnesses as there were. Still, if the girls and Bishop hadn't been there, Tony had no doubts that Jake would have vanished without a trace.

Still, while Dewhurst had dissolved the business they shared, he clearly hadn't severed all the ties he had with Keleft. The two of them were buddies, and that might just be useful. Very useful, actually.

“Which one of them do you think will fold first, Keleft or Dewhurst?”

McGee sighed. “Tony, I am not going to make any sort of wager—”

“Keleft.”

Tony looked back at the bed. “Jake. Didn't know you were awake.”

“I can't always tell when I am, either.”

“You almost sound like you're trying to make a joke,” Tony said. “Feeling a bit better this time around?”

“Not particularly. The hallucinogen might be... duller, but I'm not on anything for the pain.”

“Right. Ouch.”

“Sorry to wake you again, Jake,” McGee said. “They forced us to stay behind when they went after Keleft's yacht, so Tony and I took over to give Bishop a bit of a break. Ducky talked her into a meal with Nicholas. It's just the three of us.”

“Technically, McGuilty over there is supposed to be resting, too, since he's been on the computer nonstop since we touched down here, but he claims insomnia.”

“Like you're any better, Tony. None of us has really taken a break since we heard the Calling was back.”

Tony shrugged. He was used to that after all his years with Gibbs. He'd snuck in a couple cat naps, but he knew he wasn't getting any real sleep until they made their case on Dewhurst. Maybe even the Calling, but there might be a little leeway there. With Dewhurst, none.

Jake might have screwed up, and he had definitely lied a lot, but seeing him now, Tony could almost understand why. And if he really hadn't betrayed Bishop, he was still one of theirs, and Gibbs took that very personally.

The guy was sort of his BFF, after all. Not that that situation wasn't really complicated and weird, but knowing Gibbs, he knew about most of Jake's lies a long time ago.

“You mean it about Keleft?” Tony asked, watching Jake's reaction. “I know your dad probably would get your vote because he's pretty damned twisted, but Keleft has those terrorist ties. If he has converted and embraced the rhetoric, he could be very hard to shake. They get all mystic and believe in their cause to the point of death.”

Jake shook his head. “Keleft... is at war... with himself. He couldn't stop... he tries to accept... wants to believe he believes... but he... he can't... he's not willing to give up... expensive tastes... things that... contradict his... beliefs...”

“Like his yacht. Beautiful boat.” Tony studied Jake for a moment. “You sure you don't remember it?”

“Maybe the cabin. He would never have let me on deck.”

“You get sea sick?”

“McGee, don't be stupid,” Tony said. “We'll see if Miller can get us pictures of the inside of the boat. Still... anything you can tell us about Keleft—we could use it. We don't have a lot of time to break him or use him against your father. I think they got an extension to keep him in custody, but we need a lot more than what we have, especially after the whole drug thing.”

Jake winced. “I can't be your case... he... he made sure of that a long time ago.”

“For him, yeah. For Keleft and the Calling? Maybe not.” Tony took Bishop's seat. “I want to have a go at Keleft. Or maybe just watch Gibbs, but the thing is—even as good as Gibbs is, he'd need something to use.”

Jake swallowed. “Could use my father... break Keleft... not the other way... round.”

“Keleft is scared of your father?”

“He has... leverage... on everyone... ever done business with.”

“You're kidding,” McGee said. “He'd make too many enemies that way, and no one would want to work with him. I mean, yeah, blackmail might get them to do it, but they'd be working for a way out of it—turn him in or kill him. It wouldn't always work.”

“Leverage so that no one can turn on him,” Jake said. “Most wouldn't... most twisted as he is... but if they changed mind... he had a way... ensure silence. Bastard loves chess... always thinking... ten moves ahead.”

“All right, so where does he keep this leverage?” Tony asked. “Because it's not with him, or they'd have found it on him when he was arrested. It's not at your ancestral house because we searched it and came up empty. Can't even prove what you said about him blocking your window and locking you in. He had years to change that after you disappeared, though I'm betting he did it as soon as he reported you missing.”

Jake frowned. “I didn't tell you about that.”

“Actually,” McGee said with a wince, “you did. You were just... way too drugged to remember it. You said a lot of stuff then. Sorry.”

Jake shuddered, turning away from them. “If I knew... where he kept that... would have told someone... gotten him... locked up... years ago. Knowing him... it's close to him... but couldn't say where. And he would have a backup copy, but... no idea where... probably has... digital form... don't know.”

“Could always see if there was a copy on his boat. Or if his friend Keleft knows. If he is afraid of your father, then he might want the opportunity to put him away. That might even get us some cooperation on the Calling.” Tony rose, ready to head for the door. “Unless you know what your father was holding over Keleft.”

“Tony, he just told us he didn't.”

“No, he told us he didn't know where his father would keep that information, but if Jake here was present for the man being blackmailed, he probably saw the blackmail itself. So if it's photographs or film, he knows what's on it. Don't you, Jake?”

Jake covered his head with his hands. “The noise is back, and the room is candy striped.”

“We know this is difficult,” McGee told him, “but if you do remember, if you can give us anything on Keleft, we need it. We need a lot more on your father, too.”

“Keleft doesn't like fish.”

“Um...”

“Not exactly what we had in mind, Jake.”

“Said anything.”

“Yes, but I meant more along the lines of criminal activity or even just embarrassing might help. I guess it depends on what your father has on him.”

“Keleft didn't... doesn't... want the virgins in heaven. Wants them here.”

* * *

“Have you got a minute, Ellie?”

She winced. She needed days, really, and hadn't had a minute in what felt like weeks, but she turned to face Brian anyway. She knew she needed to go in and speak to Keleft—if it was Keleft—now that he was in custody, but she doubted she'd get much from him, even if at least half his crew was underage and probably recruited by the Calling.

Keith Moon hadn't been on board, and she still didn't know where he was.

“I don't have long, Brian,” she warned him, tempted to call Hardy and tell him to hell with Dewhurst—he was needed down here, now. If Daisy was still in the hospital, she'd have done it for sure by now. Dewhurst was wasting their time, and they could use the help here. “Same goes for you, Abby. I know you helped in finding the drugs they gave Kennedy, but now is really not a good time.”

“I know,” she agreed, “but I think he found something you should see.”

“Unless it's a body or some kind of proof tying this bastard to terrorism, I don't know that I have time for this right now,” Ellie insisted. She didn't have much time before the CS came down and took over, likely destroying their case for good.

Brian nodded. “I know, but you did arrest this one on a boat, right?”

“A yacht,” Ellie corrected at the same time as Abby, who probably had the pictures her teammates had found.

“This yacht's hull is a dark blue, isn't it?” Brian asked, and she frowned. He held out an evidence bag to her. “Abby's been helping speed things up a bit, but we still have to wait for the results on a lot of things—”

“Can't rush science,” Abby said, and Brian nodded.

“So I went back over this. It's the wreckage from the other day.”

Ellie barely remembered that now. It seemed so long ago, and hardly important in the light of everything else going on. “So?”

“Here,” Abby said. “You can see marks where whatever this was—likely a small fishing boat or other light craft—collided with something big and blue. I want to get a sample from that yacht to test it against, but I am almost certain that thing took down whatever this boat was.”

“Meaning we could prove it was in the area,” Ellie said. That was something. “We still don't know what boat that was from, though, just that the wreckage reached our shore.”

“I know, but you know when the wreckage washed up, and we can use the tide records to build a timeline of how long it likely took to get to the shore, create a search grid, maybe locate the rest of the wreck, but even if we don't—we could probably prove that this yacht was off your coast just about the same time that Moon died.”

“Keith wasn't on the yacht.”

“Not today, but he could have been before,” Abby said. She lifted up the other bag, the one with the Oxford pin. “Keleft went to Oxford back before converted. This could be his.”

“Do we have DNA or fingerprints to prove that?”

Brian shook his head. “The pin was exposed to the tide. There's not much of use on it.”

Ellie sighed. “That doesn't give me much to go on.”

“We can still make the search grid and look for the other boat,” Abby told her. “Tony and McGee would do it, so it's not like you'd have to spare more men or anything.”

“I know, but—”

“And I didn't say this before, but if the Calling was trying to recruit your son, we might be able to use that to track them.”

Ellie stared at her. “You want to use my son as bait?”


	25. Some Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie speaks with Keleft, while others get some surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were other conversations I had planned on, but I thought that it would be better to separate some of them out, and the end of the chapter made an absurd amount of sense... I am always amazed how these things come to me and make a story work when it really shouldn't by any rights.

* * *

“Whoa,” Abby said, holding up a hand. “Before you panic and go all mama bear, I don't actually need to use your son as bait. I need to use his username and maybe his email, but not him himself. He'd be far away from where we attempted this, there would be a few dozen firewalls and a heavy dose of encryption between us and them, and they wouldn't even have to know who your son was—we just need to use the foothold they tried to create with him and turn it back on them.”

Ellie frowned, watching her. “You can do that?”

She nodded. “We can.”

“I can't,” Brian said, and Abby gave him an apologetic smile, patting his chest.

“It's fine. McGee and I are just a little more into computers than you are, and it's not a bad thing. Well, Tony makes it sound like a bad thing in McGee's case, but it's not. We'd probably even ask one of our other agents for help... if he hadn't died on this case the first time around.”

Ellie winced. “Because he backtracked this stuff?”

She shook her head. “He was at an international meeting to discuss the threat, and they bombed it. He evacuated a lot of people and saved a bunch of lives, but he didn't make it. Trust me, Ellie, we are not putting your son at risk. We won't put anyone at risk that isn't already a bit at risk already. It just might be the best way to get at these people since our other methods haven't worked as well.”

Ellie nodded. “I understand that, but before you go setting up this trap, I think I need you to help Brian with the forensics on the boat—and we still need to search more of that place where we found Kennedy because we can't find the man that helped abduct him—and McGee needs to go over any computers on that yacht that could be connected to this.”

“Absolutely,” Abby said. “Whatever you need.”

“What I need is a drink, but failing that, a Kit Kat, a Scotch egg, and Hardy's irritating ass back here to deal with the CS.”

“I think I can get McGee to drop off the food on his way to the dock, but there's not much I can do about the Hardy thing or your CS. Well, wait. Director Vance might be willing to talk to him, and if he did... that might get you a little time, at least.”

“I could use whatever I can get. The CS wants this case shut down and wrapped up, with your friend Kennedy under arrest for all of this.”

“Jake is a victim, not a killer,” Abby protested. “I mean, we were all mad at him when he and Bishop split, but that still didn't make him a killer.”

Brian looked at Ellie. “You willing to give Maggie that much? Or your nephew? Because if he puts it on twitter again—”

“Hardy will be angry, but at least then the town won't be out for his blood,” Ellie said. “I've given Maggie a statement. It's up to her if she lets Olly do anything else.”

Ellie's mobile rang, and she forced herself not to curse as she walked away to answer it.

* * *

“Don't tell me what you don't have, DiNozzo. Get me something I can use,” Gibbs bellowed into his phone. Hardy eyed the other man down the hall, wondering if the locals would try and escort him out again.

“I think I might have heard that on both ends,” Miller said, and Hardy almost snorted, turning his attention back to his own conversation. “Are they going to extend custody on Dewhurst? We have Keleft and a yacht to go through, but I haven't even had a chance to sit down with him, and the forensics team hasn't gone over everything yet.”

“Keith Moon wasn't on the boat?” Hardy asked, frowning. “You're sure. They searched the whole bloody thing?”

“Yes, they did, and no, he wasn't there,” Miller said, sounding frustrated. “Most of the crew was underage. He may have recruited them through the Calling. We haven't been able to make that connection yet, either. The thread is so flimsy the CS is threatening to let him go, said we had no reason to board the boat in the first place, and he's going to arrest Kennedy himself.”

“You're bloody joking.”

“I wish I was,” Miller muttered. “The NCIS team has offered to set a trap for the Calling using Tom's username and email, but I told them to prioritize the forensics from the yacht—it may have been what sank that boat we found last week—and Keleft's computer.”

Hardy nodded. He would have done the same. They could always use Tom's account if they couldn't find Keith or even as a test to see if the Calling went further than Keleft or anyone he gave up. “You need to get Keleft talking.”

“Thanks for that. I didn't know that at all.”

“Miller,” Hardy said in warning. “Dewhurst is about to walk out the door.”

“Bloody hell,” Miller said. “Not even a little slip? Not once?”

Hardy shook his head. “Smug bastard just sits there gloating. Has an answer for almost everything or repeats what he already said. He hasn't given up a single thing, and his answers make sense to everyone else. Locals here want to cut him loose. If we don't get something else, he will walk.”

She swore. “I don't have anything. Keleft is our best bet, given his connection to Dewhurst and the terrorists, but there's no way to know if he'll talk, either. Dewhurst drugging Kennedy might just have destroyed any case we might have had.”

“He's still not—”

“He's still hallucinating. I am going in to talk to Keleft now. If I get anything, I will let you know.” Miller ended the call, and Hardy bit back curses of his own. He needed something he could use, something to keep that sick bastard here, to put him behind bars to stay.

“DI Hardy?”

He lowered the phone and looked over, annoyed. “What?”

“Lady Dewhurst is here. She says she has information for you.”

* * *

“So, Keleft, you want to have a conversation about your dirty little habits?” Tony asked, sitting down next to Miller. She gave him a look, and he gave her the trust me look, because he had this. Well, kind of. Jake had gotten more agitated each time they'd tried to push for details on Keleft, so some of that stuff probably couldn't be trusted, but he'd at least given them a starting point.

And she'd already agreed to let Tony sit in on this, so she was kind of stuck unless she wanted this to look like a failure only a couple minutes into it.

“I do not have dirty habits. That is for you Americans.”

“Yeah, we heard you didn't like our country very much,” Tony said. He leaned back in his chair. “Kind of funny, you hating it so much. We're actually on pretty good terms with our British allies, and you were born... let's see here... in England. Not Dorset, but definitely here.”

“I do not have to like America because my parents made the mistake of settling in England,” Keleft said. “I do not acknowledge this country as my own.”

“Really?” Miller asked. She pushed an evidence bag across the table. “Your passport says you're still a citizen. You own multiple properties here, have businesses here. Do you deny all of them? Because that would mean—”

“Those things are still mine.”

“Are they?” Tony asked. “Because I have to wonder... just how much of what you have is Dewhurst's front? When you two went into business together, you had nothing. Yet you end up with yacht like that beauty out there and go from one business that he forced you out of to several that do millions of dollars worth of trade.”

“I am a good businessman.”

“I think it's more that you _know_ a good businessman. Well, when I say good, I mean a ruthless bastard who will do anything to close a deal including blackmailing his partners,” Tony said, and Keleft snorted. “Oh, you think I'm joking. You do remember your former business partner had a son, don't you?”

“His son has been missing for over ten years.”

“Correction—his son has been in hiding for over ten years,” Tony said. “That's something you already knew, though, didn't you?”

“We know you met him in Dubai,” Miller said. “And that is not the only information he gave us. He knows a great deal about you and your relationship with his father.”

Tony tried not to react to that. While Miller's words were mostly true, Jake hadn't been able to give them that much about Keleft. He'd broken down pretty badly again, and they only had a bit to try and use against him.

“You're lying.”

“What, because you and that bastard traumatized him so badly you thought he'd never tell anyone else about it again?” Miller asked. “Or because you both assumed that everyone would believe he was insane if he did tell us? This isn't his home where he knows the chief constable, he can't call in favors from parliament, and he does not have his son to control.”

Keleft shook his head. “He doesn't have to control him. The child was never well.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure his father made him that way,” Tony said. “What I'm not entirely sure of is just how much of a part in that you had. You and his father being such pals and all and you with your taste for virgins... just how young do you like them, Georgie boy?”

“That is not my name.”

“It's the name you were born with,” Miller said. “And you didn't answer the question, which I have a big problem with considering just how many of your 'crew' on that yacht were underage. Is that why you got involved with the Calling? To have access to children to molest?”

“How dare you ask me that?” Keleft demanded, leaning over the table. “I would never corrupt the holy cause by committing acts against children.”

“Then you admit that you are involved with the Calling?”

Keleft glared at him, and Tony tried not to grin. That was all the confirmation he needed, really, though he knew they needed a lot more than that for the others involved. Not Gibbs, Gibbs would accept that gut instinct, but then they already knew that Keleft was connected to terrorism. He might just be a major source of bankrolling the new Calling.

And they had a major win there, good chance of stopping this thing before it got much of a start or at least stopping it in its tracks here and now.

“How does your friend Dewhurst feel about that? Seems to me a man as controlling of his money as he is might not like you giving it all away to terrorists.”

“We are not terrorists.”

“Ah, right, I forgot. You believe you're doing the work of God. Not really sure how that's possible when you're working with Dewhurst—”

“Dewhurst doesn't know you're using his money for this, does he?” Miller asked. “You've been using his obsession with his son to distract him, haven't you? As soon as you saw him in Dubai, you got more involved than you'd ever been in the past.”

“Interesting timing,” Tony agreed. “A bit risky, considering you knew where that son was working, but then again, you might even have wanted that. You might have thought it was a good way of satisfying your hate for Americans and your need for revenge against a man who has been controlling you for years. You're probably a joke to him, actually. He finds your religion amusing, tolerates your fundamentalism, but he doesn't share your beliefs. That man is so egotistical I doubt he believes in anything besides himself.”

Keleft smiled. “You think you know him so well. You don't understand anything.”

“Oh, we know more than you think,” Tony told him, smiling this time, just to annoy him.

“You wouldn't have risked going up against Dewhurst without being sure you could counter the leverage he had against you,” Miller said. “And that smug look on your face means you didn't think we'd know you had it and that you don't expect us to find it.”

“One problem with that one, buddy,” Tony said, knowing he had to sell this bluff or they were all screwed. “We already did.”

* * *

“I wish we could give you something for the pain,” Ellie said, and Jake managed a small grimace. He was hurting again, though right now that was less urgent than the way that the colors were dancing across the wall and the rest of the room was spinning. He was going to vomit again if it didn't stop, and closing his eyes didn't help.

“Trust me... other drugs make this... so much worse.”

She touched his face. “I hate that you know that from experience.”

Jake swallowed down the nausea, not wanting to remember. He needed to stay calm or he would lose control, not just of his stomach, but of everything again. He had worked so hard to rebuild himself after getting free, never wanting to be where these drugs had put him. It didn't take much to bring back the memories or the flashbacks, leaving him basically helpless, like he had been back at the police station.

He didn't want to remember that, either.

“I don't like this,” Ellie said. “I haven't heard anything from anyone in hours.”

“Impatience. Not like you.”

“Don't tease,” she said. “Just because I used to plan and research for what seemed like forever does not mean I was never impatient, something I think you know very well as my husband. Ex-husband. Whatever.”

He almost laughed. “You can... check with them... if you need to. I know... you'd rather... be doing something.”

She took out her phone. “That's odd. McGee had plenty of service here. He was doing internet searches and everything, but I've got nothing.”

“Different provider?”

“Maybe. You think you'll be all right if I head into the hallway to look for a signal?”

He snorted. “I think... by now... everyone knows... I've never been all right... I am... only nauseous... in a lot of pain. I'll be fine.”

She shook her head at him, giving his hand another squeeze before she walked away. Jake turned on his side, looking away from the door. His side flared up with pain, and he laid back to ease it. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his stomach. He would rather be pacing, but he could not pace when the bones in his feet were broken.

He hated lying here, helpless.

He heard the door and refused to look over. Ellie would have needed more time. He was hallucinating again. It would pass.

“He told me to come back for you. Said you endangered the cause.”

Jake swallowed. He was still hallucinating. Had to be. If they found the yacht, found Keleft, then they would have found Keith Moon, wouldn't they? So he wasn't here, and Jake wasn't hearing him. He couldn't be. This would go away eventually.

“I don't care about the cause, but I don't need one to hurt you. I've wanted that since you first walked into the classroom.”

Jake did look then. This was insane, and he had to be seeing things, but Keith was there. He didn't seem much different from the last day Jake had seen him in class. Clothes similar, though Jake wasn't sure if they were the exact same. Jeans, t-shirt, jacket, all of that was normal. Not normal was the knife in Keith's right hand.

Other than the hallucination, of course. As a hallucination, it made perfect sense, didn't it?

“You can't be here. This isn't real.”

Keith laughed. “Oh, it's very real. It's been almost impossible to get you alone, but then... if they hadn't been coming and going to check on you, I'd never have found you.”

“Lucky you.”

“I thought so,” Keith said with a grin, raising his knife.


	26. Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More players show themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, just when I think I have this story figured out and it's not as bad as I thought it was, something comes along that says it's worse, much, much worse, and I find myself regretting starting it again.
> 
> *sigh*

* * *

“What are you doing here?”

“As I told the officers at the desk, I have information. As you have detained my husband, I felt it would be of use to you.”

Hardy studied the woman across from him, thinking he'd rather be dealing with Tess. That or a bloody serial killer. He didn't like her, hadn't from the start, but seeing her sitting there was infuriating. She wasn't as smug as her husband, but she was still irritating, with her expensive clothes and jewelery, not one bit wrinkled or out of place, not even her hair. She was far too composed, and she shouldn't be.

The only excuse for her lack of action against her husband before now was fear, and she wasn't afraid. She was calm.

And underneath that calm, she might just be enjoying herself.

“I doubt that,” Hardy told her, “since you're only here to stall for him.”

“I am here to make sure he stays in jail.”

Gibbs snorted. “And why would you want to do that?”

“Seems a bit obvious to me,” Hardy said. “She figures she gets his money if he goes to prison.”

Gibbs shook his head, smiling as he did. “Now that is almost funny. You think that's funny, Hardy?”

“Aye, it's bloody hilarious considering she knows her husband is a sexist arsehole,” Hardy said. When she glared at him, he shrugged. “Not that it's just him. His estate, title, and all holdings pass to his children, not to his wife. You get nothing.”

“What do you want to bet she figured that everything her husband did to make her son seem mentally unstable would get her the money?”

Hardy nodded. “Makes sense. She comes now, gives us 'evidence,' makes herself seem innocent though all the while still planning on backing his story about their son's instability so she gets the money even if he comes forward.”

“Probably thought it was a good plan,” Gibbs said. He gave her a cold look. “It wasn't.”

“This isn't any sort of plan,” Lady Dewhurst protested. She shook her head. “I have lived my life in fear, knowing what he'd do to me if I ever defied him. He had so many friends in the police and in parliament. I knew I couldn't do anything before, but you're different.”

“You think we're stupid, don't you?” Gibbs asked, not at all swayed by her words. “You're not afraid of him. You want him gone, and you want us to do that for you, but you aren't scared of him. Maybe you should be. He hears about this, he'll be angry. I'd be pissed if I was him.”

“I am scared of him,” she insisted. “Just because I'm not a weepy, terrified mess like my son does not mean I was never afraid of him.”

“I think even if I believed you were afraid of him, I'd have a hard time having much sympathy for you,” Hardy told her. “My father, he was a right arsehole. Big. Mean. Scottish, with a temper to go with the stereotype. Worse when he'd been drinking. Mostly bluster, but even when that was all it was, when he was yelling and screaming at the top of his bloody lungs, my mother, she stepped in between him and me. Every damned time. That's not what you did. You walked away and abandoned your son to that monster. Not once. Not twice. Every time.”

She shook her head. “You don't know—”

“Your son told us exactly what it was like,” Gibbs said. “I'd like to lock you up right beside your husband. Just give me a reason.”

“Actually,” Hardy said. “She already has.”

* * *

“You're bluffing,” Keleft said. “You don't have anything, or we would not be sitting here.”

Ellie forced herself not to look at DiNozzo. That would only confirm it, and she wasn't giving into that bastard. She knew she didn't have everything she needed—they might have finished searching the boat, but they didn't have any forensics results back or the information from the computer sitting in front of her to use against him.

“You sure about that?” DiNozzo asked. “Because maybe what we're doing now is preparing a big long ass list of charges to keep you on because of it. I mean, I know we've got you for a few already. Tell me, would you rather try and make a plea for terrorism or the whole business with the kids? You look like the kind of sicko that has a big ol' stash of the stuff, and that, Georgie boy, is just plain old wrong.”

“I told you. I do not sully the cause.”

“Yeah, but you're very new to the cause, aren't you?” Tony said. “All that stuff you collected before, did before, that's all before your devotion to it, right? Born again and all that, so it's behind you—only it really isn't because Dewhurst has you over a barrel with it.”

“He can prove nothing.”

“Oh, bold,” DiNozzo went on. “Miller, I think he thinks that getting rid of the copy Dewhurst gave him saved his ass.”

She shook her head. “We know he had multiple copies. His son confirmed that for us.”

“Even gave us a few possible locations for the others,” DiNozzo went on with a bright smile. “Not that he needs all the backups to help us, seeing as he was there to witness a lot of what went down first hand.”

Keleft shook his head. “He will not testify.”

“What, because Dewhurst drugged him up and tried to make him look crazy? Tox screens search for a lot more these days, not quite like the past, and even though the first test failed, we found that nasty cocktail he got, and we can prove he's not insane.”

The smile never left Keleft's face. Ellie's stomach twisted as she realized what that meant.

“You sent someone to kill him.”

“You know that he's going to be pissed, right?” DiNozzo asked. “Man's straight up obsessed with his son. He is not going to accept you sending someone to kill him.”

“Dewhurst should have. He should have seen the child for the threat he is years ago, but his obsession clouded his judgment. He believes he can control the boy, but that has never worked. He would subdue the child for a time, but it always renewed its resistance. He never would accept that he had failed.”

Ellie, for one, was glad Dewhurst had, even if that meant his son had suffered plenty over the years and managed to be more annoying in the course of their investigation than Claire Ripley. “He's being guarded by NCIS agents and police. You won't get close to him.”

“I do not have to.”

“You have that much faith in your assassin, do you? Faith in your people is good, I guess. I have it mine. McGee's going to unravel all your nasty cyber crimes, and Abby will pin you to the killings with forensics you didn't even realize you left behind. And Bishop, well... she's got a photographic memory and a pretty good aim, so I'm not worried. Are you? Because you should be.”

Ellie frowned. “You sent in someone without caring whether they lived or died, didn't you? You bastard. You used one of those kids.”

Keleft smiled, starting to laugh as they rose from the table. DiNozzo was already on the way to the door with his phone out and to his ear.

* * *

"Keith, you don't have to do this," Jake said, getting laughter in response.

Jake scrambled backward, knowing he didn't really have anywhere he could go, not in this bed or even in this room. Keith was blocking the door, and while a part of his brain kept trying to insist that this was just a hallucination, the rest of him was in a neon colored panic.

He swore he'd never take another drug as long as he lived.

Of course, knowing his dependency on coffee, that wouldn't last, but then he doubted he'd still have the job he'd needed it so much for now, not after all of this. The scandal, the past, and disobeying orders, that was all going to come down to him losing his clearance and with it, his job.

And he doubted he'd get any positions teaching, either.

Keith lunged for him, and Jake rolled backward, falling off the bed. He hit his side and bit down hard to keep from crying out, struggling to breathe. He shoved the bed as Keith climbed on it, startling the kid, who seemed to think Jake couldn't move at all.

This shouldn't have happened. NCIS was watching this place, and probably some of the local police, too. Even if they weren't, they were searching for Keith everywhere, so how had he gotten in?

Keith came around the bed with a snarl, and Jake dragged himself backward by his good arm, not making it far before Keith reached him. He raised the knife, ready to strike, but this kid was an amateur compared to his father, more like something out of a film than a killer with any real brains or practice. Jake blocked the knife with the plaster on his hand, the pain jarring through his broken fingers.

That wasn't going to work twice. There had to be something else, something he could do to delay it, to stop it, to stall or—oh, hell. He'd forgotten. How had he forgotten?

“Boyers. No... that... name before conversion...”

Keith stopped, frowning. “What?”

“Steve Boyers... now... something else... something... Keleft's assistant... the one my father gave him,” Jake said, hissing part of it through his teeth. “Where is he?”

“Shut up,” Keith said, lifting the knife up again.

“Abdul Firman,” Jake said, finally remembering the name and seeing something in Keith's eyes that was either a confirmation or a hallucination. “He's here, isn't he? He got you inside.”

“I got myself inside,” Keith said, angry. He covered Jake's mouth, and he choked, trying to fight the hold. “I killed my father, and I am going to kill you. I want to. I've wanted to since school started. I thought about how I'd do it, what I'd do when I got to you... This won't be all of it. I wanted to take days and make it perfect.”

Jake tried to push at him, but Keith's weight came down on his bruised side, and he couldn't breathe. The pain had him howling against the hand at his mouth, but no one was coming. If he was right, and Firman was helping Keleft, if he helped Keith, then any police or NCIS presence outside was probably dead.

Boyers had always seemed like someone who knew how to kill you and make sure no one found your body, and Jake had been terrified, having him as a “bodyguard” when he was younger. Jake doubted he was any better now that he “followed” a different religion and was probably as involved in terrorism as Keleft was.

“Drop the knife, Keith.”

Ellie. She hadn't been far after all.

“I'll kill him.”

“Not before I kill you,” Ellie said. “I have a gun. You have a knife. I already won this battle once this week. A man is dead. You can be next, or you can drop the knife.”

Keith looked back at her. “Like I would be afraid of you. You're injured. Your hand is shaking. You're a woman. You're lying about killing someone. I bet you've never done it. I have. I stabbed my father over and over and watched him bleed out. You don't have the guts.”

Jake shook his head. Keith was wrong, but then he wasn't sure that wasn't the point of all of this. He knew his father didn't want him dead, just broken. Keith may have been sent in here to die, to cover up a loose end and give them what they thought they wanted so that they'd let his father go.

“Last warning. Knife down now, or I shoot.”

Keith laughed, and Jake twisted, knowing what was coming. The blade scraped his side as the gunshots echoed across the room. Keith fell on him, and Jake couldn't breathe again. He thought he heard alarms going off.

“Dear Lord. Elanor? Jakob?”

“Over here, Ducky,” Ellie said, moving to shove Keith off of Jake. She checked his pulse, frowning. Ducky came around the bed. “That one needs you more, I think. Not sure he'll make it. He didn't give me much choice. Wait. No. I—Jake?”

“Boyers,” Jake said, feeling light-headed again. “Used to... work... father...”

“Jakob, I need you to stay with me now,” Ducky said. “This wound on your side—”

“Converted... joined Keleft...” Jake whispered, not sure he could stay awake. “Think he's here... think he sent... Keith in... to die.”

* * *

“God,” Miller whispered, shaking her head at the room. “Keith Moon did this?”

Elanor nodded. “With some help from Jake as he tried to defend himself, but yes, he did. He had Jake pinned down there, and he wouldn't... I had to shoot.”

“No one is blaming you for this, Elanor,” Ducky assured her, touching her arm. She nodded, but he could see the signs of strain all over her. No one wanted to shoot a child, even if that one was quite disturbed and doing so saved lives. “You need to rest.”

“What about Kennedy?”

“Jakob added another wound to his growing list of injuries, but he should survive and make a full recovery,” Ducky told the detective. “He was fortunate. The knife wound proved more of a graze, and while none of the other injuries was good, they were all minor. I did suggest they check his ribs again, as I fear that the cracks may now be breaks.”

“Maybe we should call him a cockroach,” Anthony said. “Since he has managed to stay alive through all of this.”

“That's just it, Tony. Jake said he thought Keith was sent here to die, not to actually kill him.”

“Yeah, Bish, we kind of got that sense from Keleft,” Anthony admitted. “He even laughed about it, the bastard.”

“He also gave us another name. A gentleman he seemed to think was working with his father and Keleft. Boyers, I believe it was.”

“That goes against our theory that Keleft was funding the terrorism without Dewhurst's knowledge.”

Elanor shook her head. “Not necessarily. Jake did say he converted. He passed out again before telling us what name he had, but if he converted like Keleft, then Boyers is the name Jake knew him under, probably when he worked for Dewhurst. When he worked for Keleft, he might have had another name.”

“I'll see if McGee can dig it up for us,” Anthony said. “He still needs to come through on those computer files. We don't have much on Keleft, and he could walk on us, too, without giving us anything or anyone else.”

“Boyers might be able to tell us something, and we haven't found that body yet.”

Ducky grimaced. “The list of what we do not have seems to be increasing while we make little progress on the things that we do have. Jakob remains our best lead, and we nearly lost him again.”

“We'll double the guard around the facility and keep at least two people with him at all times from now on,” Miller said. She grimaced. “I want to go back to Keleft with something to shut him up and wipe that smile off his face, but he's probably glad he got rid of Keith.”

“He's not dead yet, just in surgery.”

“Yeah, but getting Keith shot is what Keleft wanted. I'm sure he wanted that after Jake was dead—two birds, one stone and all that—but he was willing to risk it just being Keith that died,” Anthony said. “The guy didn't buy into the rhetoric, and he would have been difficult to control.”

“He also had a known issue with Kennedy,” Miller said. “They planned that, wanted him to have a motive... they might even think we'd drop the Calling angle and accept that Keith did it all on his own.”

“Except he didn't,” Elanor said. “Someone fed him the recruitment and helped him elude the police for days before he found his way here, and how did he get past security here unnoticed?”

“Perhaps that was the work of this man Boyers.”

“There is something else I wanted to check—I need to get a tablet or something of my own to work with—but Jake said he was held somewhere with furniture before the cellar, and that is going to be nearby. He didn't mention the rocking, but it could have been the yacht. Or it was somewhere else here local.”

“Yacht,” Anthony said. “Think about it—Dewhurst and his guys fought Bishop at the pier. They drag him off into a boat, take him back to the yacht, rough him up. The other guy gets killed and conveniently dropped off the side of the ship. Jake gets drugged to confuse him about everything, and they take him back ashore to the cellar.”

“Only he didn't remember a boat.”

“He also didn't remember a car,” Miller said. “We asked him how he got where he was, and he couldn't tell us. He just said there was furniture once and later the cellar.”

“He might have been in a state of shock, having had bones in his hand broken and been forced to stab Elanor. He could have missed a great number of details in his distress, and as I recall, the water was rather calm that night.”

“So we need forensics to prove Jake was on the yacht.”

“Any evidence of that is probably in the water, too.”

* * *

“Ah, Agent Gibbs,” Dewhurst said with a smile. “And DI Hardy. Should I take it from your rather displeased expressions that you have come to release me at last? I have been considering legal action. I gave it a great deal of thought in the past few hours while I waited. Alone.”

“That's probably not the only action you'll want to take,” Gibbs said, taking a seat across from him. “Don't think you'll get to do anything, but you will want to.”

“Aye,” Hardy agreed. “You still won't be going anywhere, but you'll try.”

“Your extension may have been granted, but it will come to nothing. There is nothing to find.”

“That's not true,” Gibbs told him with no small amount of satisfaction. “Not one but two people close to you have betrayed you, Dewhurst.”

“If you are claiming one of those is my son, I do have to remind you that I haven't seen him in years, and unfortunately, I can no longer consider us close.”

“Your wife,” Hardy said. “She came here to give us information on you, something she thought would put you away for a very long time.”

Dewhurst laughed. “Oh, did she? Well, she's a fool. I'm sure she trapped herself in whatever it is, as she does not have any true evidence against me. If she did, she'd make herself some kind of... what is it you call it—an accessory? Yes, she would be, wouldn't she? If I were to be convicted, though that is not the case here.”

“There is the matter of Keleft.”

Dewhurst shook his head. “Keleft is not a close associate. We dissolved our business years ago, and we are not what we once were thanks to his fanaticism.”

“Except you were still using him to front some of your interests,” Gibbs said. “Big mistake.”

Dewhurst rolled his eyes. “You are tedious and wasting time again. You have no proof that Keleft has any of my holdings. I wouldn't trust him with my money.”

“You damn well shouldn't have,” Gibbs told him. “He's been using it to fund terrorism behind your back. Recruiting children into his cause.”

Dewhurst smiled. “Amusing, but again, he does not control any of my money.”

“Maybe not,” Hardy conceded, “but even if he doesn't, he did send someone to kill your son.”

Dewhurst was definitely not smiling now.


	27. Manipulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy and Chloe pay a well-intentioned but misguided visit, and the others look for a way to close the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan for today was to finish this. I just wanted to write it all, get it wrapped up and done so I could stop making so many mistakes, and then... the story fought me all day and I ended up having to change where this chapter did end and make a new scene, and it was very frustrating and I am rather sick, so... it is not what I'd hoped for, and I worry I made another mistake.

* * *

“We wanted to talk to you.”

Maggie looked up from her desk and frowned, and Chloe about lost her nerve, thinking about the last time she was in the Echo, but she knew she couldn't. She also knew if she didn't keep her nerve, then Daisy would lose hers. She wasn't one of those kids that hated her parents and did everything to spite them. She actually liked her dad and was not happy with the idea of doing something he wouldn't like, even if it was for a good cause.

“Did you two need an ad for something at the school?” Maggie asked. “The forms are up front, and one of the others could—”

“We need to talk to you about a story,” Chloe said. “We... we thought about just putting it on social media, but if we did a throwaway account, no one would believe it, and they need to believe it because it's true, and we don't want another Jack Marshall.”

Daisy looked at her, and Maggie folded her arms over her chest.

“What do you know?”

“It's about the murder,” Chloe said. “Well... not just that...”

Maggie frowned. “You know about the murder? Is this something you got from your dad?”

Daisy shook her head. “No, and if it was, I wouldn't tell you. I couldn't. I just...”

“There's all this stupid stuff on the internet saying it was a serial killer and that our teacher is some kind of psycho, but he's not. He didn't do it. He hasn't been at school because he got kidnapped, not because he killed anyone.”

Maggie nodded. “I did get an official statement from Ellie Miller. I've put it in print already, special edition—”

“It's not enough,” Chloe said, taking out her phone and showing Maggie the comments on the newspaper article. “They still think he did it and that they have to do something about him. They're saying he's another Joe Miller and he's sick and he abducted Keith, which is crap, because Keith is a bastard no one would abduct and he's the one that—”

“We can tell you about the kidnapping,” Daisy interrupted. “We were there when it happened. A man threatened Mr. Kennedy, his ex-wife, and us. Mr. Kennedy agreed to go with him if he spared us, but we all knew it was a lie and they'd kill us, so we told him not to, but he was still going to because the guy said he'd do horrible stuff to us before he killed us.”

“We jumped in the water and got away from them. Mr. Kennedy's ex-wife is an American agent. She had a gun. She shot the man to protect us, and she got stabbed before they took Mr. Kennedy. That's what happened.”

Maggie hesitated. “Girls, I know you probably like your teacher, and I assume you know a lot about the case because of what your father does—”

“We were there,” Chloe insisted. “It happened at the blue hut down by the pier. It sounds crazy, and it was—”

“It was scary,” Daisy said. “But we know what we heard. We know what we saw.”

“People are going to have a hard time believing the bit about American agents, petal.”

Chloe sighed. “There has to be something. It's the truth. And I don't want them to hurt Kennedy like they hurt Jack Marshall. I had a part in that. I thought... It doesn't matter. I don't want that happening again. The papers got them all worked up before, so the papers can stop it this time.”

“The agents are still here, working with Miller,” Daisy added. “People around town have to have seen them or talked to them. They'd get noticed.”

Maggie looked them both over. “You're the ones telling me that they haven't.”

Chloe and Daisy exchanged a look. “Do you think someone could be trying to make it seem like they're not here?”

“Not Miller, and not Dad, though he was still in London last I knew,” Daisy admitted. “Not sure why the Americans would hide, because they couldn't. We'd all have known, right? Broadchurch isn't that big.”

“Maybe it's because of the terrorists.”

“What terrorists?”

Chloe almost swore. “We don't actually know much about that. Kennedy and his wife were talking about it, Daisy's dad said we'd all better hope it wasn't terrorists, but then they all tried not to say anything else—”

“Which was why we stayed with them because Kennedy and his ex were too caught up in fighting to realize they were saying too much,” Daisy said. “We don't know much about it—”

“But if you were to print something helping Kennedy, we could find out more.”

* * *

“Abby took everything back to the lab with the locals,” Tony said, leaning against Jake's new hospital bed. “McGee found not one but several computers, and he is deep, deep, into the dark world of cyberspace. Well, not exactly, but he's busy at the moment. He claims that so far he hasn't found the level of encryption he should have with any of them, and that means that he is either missing a device, or they aren't the Calling.”

Jake swallowed. “You do realize... they put me under... to treat the wound... You are purple.”

“Really? Because I thought it was just a graze.”

“Might have been,” Jake said. “All I know... hallucinations are worse... than before... Why... are you... here?”

“Well, in addition to the fact that someone has to be watching over you, Miller's stuck with her boss, I am supposedly not authorized to talk to Keleft without her, and I have some very shiny photos to show you.”

“Photos?”

“You said you might be able identify the yacht from the cabin, not the deck, and I have lots of pictures of cabins,” Tony told him, taking out one of the prints and holding it up for Jake to view. “See, we have this new theory that we need your help with, and so I need to know if you know this boat.”

Jake grimaced. “Now you... orange. This is... a very bad idea.”

“I'm sure it is,” Tony agreed, giving him the photos anyway. They had some from other yachts mixed in as a test, though Tony didn't see the point in that. “Doesn't change the fact that you're still our best source, as Ducky pointed out, and that really sucks for you. They sent that kid here to shut you up, and I doubt he'll be the only one.”

Jake shook his head. “My father, twisted as he is, wants me alive.”

“Yeah, but that only goes for him, not for Keleft or this guy Boyers—Firman—one that you told us about. Keleft definitely wants you dead. He sees you as your father's weakness, something he needs to eliminate.”

“No.”

Tony shook his head. He was not going to get into a debate about that. “Do you recognize any of these cabins or not?”

Jake lifted up a photo. “This one. Familiar.”

“How so?”

“Tony...”

“We need information. Keleft is trying to resurrect the Calling. Unless that is a lie and this whole thing is about you, because if it is about you—”

“Keleft is a believer,” Jake said. “My father... is not. And there were dozens... of easier ways for him to get at me... ways he would have planned... and used... because no one would ever have found me. This... is not about me. Even... Keleft... better off... killing me... other ways.”

“Excellent point, and yet we have you here, the Calling here—”

“I came because of the Calling.”

“And yet someone deeply connected to your father appears to be connected to the Calling. Explain that one,” Tony said. “It is a little weird. More than a little weird, actually.”

“Keleft may see the need... to atone for past sins by... more extreme action.”

“So terrorism blots out capitalism?”

“You asked,” Jake said. He winced, shifting his position. “The money wasn't Keleft's.”

“Right,” Tony agreed. “It was your dear old Dad's, wasn't it? He set Keleft up in business to hide some of his assets, probably a tax thing. Maybe a wife thing. I heard your mom's a piece of work. Still, he used Keleft for years, going back to their days at Oxford.”

“And if you think... Keleft never resented that...”

Tony nodded. “Of course he did. He must have hated being under your father's control. Took him decades to make a move, though. What's up with that?”

“My father... controls everything. He chose Keleft... for a reason... Knew he could be used... knew he could keep hold of him. He wouldn't have gone into business... someone he couldn't control.”

“And the religious part of that fits... how?” Tony couldn't help frowning. “If he was controlling, why allow religion?”

“Guilty men are easier to manipulate,” Jake said, and Tony wondered if he was quoting his father. “Keleft gave him control every time he failed to live up to his beliefs.”

“And he failed a lot.”

Jake nodded.

“This cabin you recognized. Was it from your childhood?”

Jake picked up another photograph. He touched the corner of it, near the headboard of the bed. “That... may have been... where my hands were tied.”

“You sure?”

Jake looked at his wrist. “I don't... I remember a pain in my arm... when they were dragging me away from Ellie... I don't... I thought it was... what he did to my hand... when I fought him... the next thing I remember...”

“Easy, Jake,” Tony said, moving to take the pictures before they could all fall off the bed as Jake shuddered. “Try and calm back down, buddy. You seeing stuff again?”

“No. Yes. It's not that.”

Tony gave him a look, and he knew he didn't want to ask this, but he did anyway. “He started in on you right away, huh?”

“Tony...”

“Technically, that is a part of the investigation,” Tony told him. Jake shivered, and Tony decided to change tactics for now. They could go back to that when Jake wasn't on the drugs. “Can you tell us anything else about the room?”

“Here,” Jake said, pointing to the paneling along the one side of the room in the picture. “Kept his toys... there.”

“Jake, I know you're upset and all, and you're probably very, very high, but that is a wall.”

“Secret compartment.”

Tony clapped his hands together. “Now that is what I'm talking about.”

* * *

“You are afraid?”

Ellie snorted, taking a position along the wall of the interview room. She almost preferred it over sitting in that chair, remembering being here when Hardy told her it was Joe. It helped that she had a terrorist there she could focus her anger on and forget everything else. “And what exactly would make you think that, Keleft?”

“There are four of you now,” Keleft said, pointing to each of them in turn. Tony seemed amused from his spot against the other wall. She wasn't sure what the others were thinking. “If that is not fear, what is it?”

“Oh, we're not afraid,” DiNozzo said, flashing him one of his more irritating smiles. “Consider Miller and me spectators, just here to kick back and enjoy the show.”

Hardy gave DiNozzo a look before addressing Keleft. “As far as fear goes—”

“You're the one who should be afraid,” Gibbs finished, taking a seat at the table. “You tried to have a man killed.”

“Are you going to say I admitted to that?” Keleft smiled, folding his hands together like he had no trouble in the world. “I suggest you review your tapes, detective. I never said any such thing.”

“Aye,” Hardy agreed from the other chair. “We know.”

Keleft continued to smile, still so smug that Ellie wanted to cross the room and smack him. She wasn't going to be able to stand here forever, but she did want to know what Hardy and Gibbs were planning on saying to this bastard.

“Then why are we still here?” Keleft asked. “All of you know you've got nothing to hold me on. You can't prove I did anything besides sail near your shore, and that is not a crime.”

“You were involved with Dewhurst.”

“That association was ill-advised,” Keleft answered. “We are no longer business partners. If you suspect him of some sort of crime, that has nothing to do with me.”

“You're aware of a lot more of Dewhurst's activities than that,” Hardy said. “You two were partners for several years. You've made several claims about his son. Everything you said suggests you knew the man very well and were still in contact.”

“If you're referring to your agent's allegations that I was still in business with him and using his money to support terrorism, that's absurd. Anyone who knows Dewhurst knows that he won't part with a shilling unless he has to. Ask his wife about that. She'll explain it all.”

“Aye, we know. We spoke to her.”

“Then why are you still talking to me?” Keleft asked. “I know and you know that the one you actually want is Dewhurst. Why aren't you talking to him? Because I have nothing to say to you.”

“We spoke to Dewhurst,” Gibbs said. “For hours.”

“And got nowhere?” Keleft laughed. “That is not the least bit surprising. Dewhurst is probably laughing right now. I'm sure he enjoyed every minute of those hours.”

“He was smug at first,” Hardy agreed. “Didn't last.”

Keleft turned his head, studying them. “So you found something to hold him on?”

“No. We had to let him go.”

Ellie shook her head, biting back a swear. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. Dewhurst should not be free. That bastard did not deserve fresh air. He should be forced to rot in a cell the way he'd made his son stay in a locked room without any windows.

“I'm sure you're disappointed,” Keleft said, still smiling. He was enjoying this, smug little prick.

“Not as much as you are.”

Keleft laughed at Hardy's words. “I'm not disappointed. I'm not surprised. I am amused, but disappointed? Hardly. You've confirmed what I thought about you all along, and that is rather satisfying.”

“Not as much as this is,” Hardy told him, and Gibbs actually grinned. “Dewhurst is fully aware of your attempt on his son's life.”

“You said yourself he's obsessed with his son,” Gibbs went on. “Exactly how do you think he's going to react?”

Keleft shook his head. “You think that will scare me? You have me in custody. He won't make a move here.”

Ellie almost said something about Dewhurst probably having the reach for that, but she didn't get the chance.

“As you so pointed out so many times,” Hardy said, rising from his chair, “we have nothing on you.”

“Which means,” Gibbs said, following Hardy toward the door, “you're free to go.”

“Good luck,” DiNozzo said with a bit too much glee, following the others from the room.


	28. Preparation in Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy and Gibbs seek more information while their plan is in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of insane ideas that I've thought about and either rejected or included in this story is kind of... disturbing. I thought of a few more on the last chapter, almost tossed in some here, decided against the one, kept another but can't reveal it yet... and every time I try and pin this down and wrap it up... it somehow gets longer.

* * *

“You're setting them against each other?” Miller demanded as soon as she caught up with them. “Do you have any idea what you're doing? That's—”

“Would you rather they got away with everything?” Hardy asked, and she shook her head. “We couldn't build a case on either of them with what we had. This way they at least keep each other occupied until we do.”

“It's insane,” she insisted. “What happens if one of them does manage to kill the other? You really think they're going to leave evidence for us to make a case that time? In what world do we actually stand back and do nothing, thinking that is an acceptable solution?”

“It's not,” Gibbs said, and she stared at him in shock. “You think I wanted to let _either_ of them go? Hell, no, but when you only have one shot, you make it the best one you've got and you damn well don't miss.”

She shook her head. “There has to be something else, something better we can do.”

“No one said we were done yet, Miller,” Hardy told her. He sure as hell wasn't. Dewhurst had threatened Daisy. Hardy wanted that bastard. He might even prefer it if Keleft or one of the others found a way to kill him. In prison, he'd just whine or gloat. He'd still terrorize his son.

Death was more permanent, and nothing less than what this bastard deserved.

“You two have some other kind of plan, then?”

Hardy didn't answer. A part of him figured he'd be fine with Keleft killing Dewhurst, since they were more likely to get something on the terrorists and it would make him suffer for threatening Daisy. That didn't mean he wasn't considering alternatives, and he did not want either of them walking from court like Joe Miller had.

“Well, Jake did tell us he was on board the ship for at least part of it, and Abby was working on proving that much, which would poke some holes in Dewhurst's claims, since not only would he have been on the water but he would have been able to use that to sneak onto his land and stage the flight back into London,” DiNozzo said. “So there is that.”

“You had better have something a hell of a lot better than that, DiNozzo.”

“Sorry, boss. We're still waiting on a lot of test results. McGee is digging through a lot of computer data, but it's going to take time. If we had a full geek squad, maybe, but we've only got one McGeek among us. I guess we could pull Abby from the forensics—”

“DiNozzo—”

“Where the hell is Kennedy?” Hardy asked, and everyone looked at him. “Why is that question so bloody surprising? Dewhurst is his father. He may be an uncooperative arse, but he's an arse that knows the truth about his father and these damned terrorists.”

“We'll take you to him, but he did just get stabbed on top of the rest of it—”

“And one of the doctors treating him didn't bother to read his chart and gave him drugs, so he's even more out of it than before,” DiNozzo finished. “Yeah, it's been fun around here.”

Gibbs shook his head. “Fun's just getting started, DiNozzo.”

* * *

“Time for you to start talking,” Hardy said, stopping at the foot of Jake's hospital bed. “No word games. No hiding behind agencies or national security or telling us someone else has the answers. You have them, and you're going to give them to us. All of them. No excuses. No stalling.”

Jake eyed the detective with a frown. “Are you wearing a floral lei?”

“What?” the Scot demanded, and it was almost funny enough to get Tony to laugh. “No.”

“Didn't think so,” Jake said. “I'm still hallucinating. Figured as much.”

“Whoever sedated you to do treat the wound did a great disservice to you,” Ducky told him. “Though given the similar properties this drug shares with the one commonly known as acid, you may experience moments like that while completely sober for years to come.”

Jake nodded. “Lasted weeks before... had me committed once.... was hell... almost worse than... being at home.”

“Then give us the bastard,” Hardy told him. “You know him. You know Keleft. You know this Boyers—Firman—arsehole. Tell us what we need to know.”

Jake sighed, starting to twist his hands together before remembering his fingers were broken. “You really have... no comprehension... how hard this is... to discuss.”

Hardy folded his arms over his chest. “No, I have trouble understanding why you wouldn't give us all you could on any one of these bastards. You can't lie there and tell me you aren't afraid of him or that you don't know anything, so why the bloody hell won't you just say it?”

“I have never been able to talk about this... I didn't ever... when I was younger, I tried... I just told you what that got me... He had people convinced I was crazy. Sometimes... he managed to convince me,” Jake whispered, and Tony winced. He didn't want to know what that was like. “I... when I was young... used to think... I could just... be good enough to stop him, to make him happy... and he'd stop... when I realized... that was never.... never going to work... I tried to get help... my first tutor... disappeared. My mother... let him... and then there was the drugs... the never ending parade of people just like him... it was like... telling someone became... a punishment... and not even... from him... There was no point... or I was... scared... I couldn't tell anyone... didn't want to... when I got away... it seemed like... only safety... and God help me, it was nice... to pretend that... wasn't me. That life... was someone else's... not mine.”

“I'm afraid denying it doesn't make it any less yours,” Ducky told him, “though I think we all try a bit of compartmentalization to cope with our lives.”

“Thought you weren't religious,” Hardy said, picking up on that detail and seeming to ignore the rest of it, and Tony thought that almost sounded like an accusation of lying.

“I'm not,” Jake said. “Never found a way... accept there was a god... when my father was torturing me. It's a damned expression... you never think about... how many of them... you adopt... until you find yourself... needing to hide them... and failing.”

Gibbs almost seemed amused by that one. “All talk, no trousers.”

Jake winced. “Among others, though before... anyone asks... that was not about DiNozzo.”

“Better not have been,” Tony muttered, annoyed. “I'll have you know there is plenty in my—”

Gibbs hit him in the back of the head, and he stopped. That was actually unfamiliar. He almost couldn't remember when the last time that had happened was. He hadn't really missed it. And it probably wasn't a good idea around Jake.

“We didn't have enough to hold your father,” Hardy told Jake. “Couldn't disprove his alibi, so he walked. He is out there now. So is Keleft.”

Jake shuddered. Bishop glared at him. “Was that really necessary? It's not like we didn't already know that was likely, but he just got done telling you why it was hard to tell any of us about this, and you're trying to scare him or guilt trip him further?”

“You've told them plenty,” Hardy said, still focused on Jake. “Not me.”

“You know,” Tony began, “in his defense, a lot of what he told us was when he was too drugged to know what he was saying. I mean, he's tried to help since he came down, too, but there was that think about cactus plants with swords, so...”

Hardy grunted. “Doesn't change much.”

“Your suit looks purple,” Jake told him. “I know it isn't, but... it looks purple. It's hard to tell what's real... almost thought Keith wasn't... but he tried to kill me... and that knife... felt real.”

“Easy, Jake. You're getting worked up again,” Bishop said, reaching for his hand. He snatched it out of her grip and curled up on himself.

“Your ribs, Jakob,” Ducky said, “try and stay still.”

“I feel them again. I hate this,” Jake whispered. “Crawling on my skin... it was gone. Why is it back?”

“Because you're stressed,” Miller told him. “And while we don't want to push, we don't have a lot of choice. Your father and Keleft are both loose, and they may distract each other for a while, but not long. We need something more, and you seem to be the one who'd have it.”

“I don't... I tried... I tried being good and obeying... did everything he asked... but it didn't stop... and I tried... to fight... but I couldn't... I was too young... even when I was older... I wasn't strong enough... If Taylor hadn't walked in on him hurting me... would still be with him now...” Jake closed his eyes. “Still not sure... why never gave in... stopped fighting... did try to kill myself... he wouldn't let me... always watching...”

There was silence after that, and Tony didn't think even Hardy wanted to push right then. Still, they needed something, and Jake had given them stuff when he was asked. He just needed to be led in the right direction. Maybe something else could help, though he didn't know what it was.

“But you went to college, right?” Tony asked. “What did he do then?”

“Boyers... bodyguard... babysitter... knew he'd hurt me if given the slightest reason... later... moved to private housing... he had cameras... everywhere... and Boyers... My father... would show up... random times... almost gave in and went back to the house... to the locked room... was almost easier... than constantly being... on edge... was going insane... knew couldn't get free...”

“Wait,” Miller said. “You said cameras. Your father had surveillance on you?”

Jake nodded. “Not sure if he did anywhere else... probably... was a control freak... but he made sure I knew about them there... so I knew I couldn't... couldn't leave...”

“Okay, two things,” Tony said, frowning. “How did you get away if he was watching you? And... where would we find these tapes?”

“Tapes... probably with his other leverage if they still exist.”

Tony grimaced. They hadn't been able to find any sign of that stuff, though he didn't think Jake was lying about his father having it. The guy was sick enough he would have, and Keleft basically confirmed it when they spoke to him, though he hadn't believed they had it. He must have destroyed at least one copy of it.

“And the whole escaping thing?”

“Taylor's father was NSA. So was he... maybe... or he was just... going to be... not sure anymore... Back then I was... so desperate... someone to help, someone... who believed me... who wouldn't do the same things my father did... and Taylor seemed to,” Jake said. He put a hand to his head. “Now... now I think... they were using me as much as he was... just... didn't see it... too subtle... not like my father...”

“Jake,” Bishop said with a wince.

“He kept telling me... they couldn't find anything... no way to stop my father...” Jake said. “They had to be lying... you have it... in days... they never did... not in years...”

“Except we don't have it in days. We had to let them walk.”

Jake didn't look at him. “Still more... than they... ever did.”

* * *

“They said he'd be calm enough to talk again in a few minutes,” Gibbs said, coming up next to Hardy outside the building. “Unless you're just out here for a smoke.”

Hardy shook his head. He wouldn't be surprised if his past habits showed, but he'd quit, and he wasn't going back to it, not after the pacemaker.

“This is typically when I go find something or someone to shoot.”

Hardy looked over at Gibbs. He might not have carried a gun, but he could appreciate the sentiment. “Aye, sounds about right.”

“You think it was going to be easy?” Gibbs asked, and Hardy shook his head. That wasn't it. He hadn't believed that from the beginning, even when he knew Keith had killed his father. He'd been sure at that first meeting, but proving it was different. “You already came to the same conclusion he did. Days ago, I'd assume.”

“Took him years. Why would I get it in days?”

“Because if you didn't, you'd be a piss poor detective, and you're not,” Gibbs said. “Malloy didn't see it because he couldn't _let_ himself see it. He couldn't accept being used again or it would have destroyed him. Ducky can give you a lot more psychobabble than that, but that's what it is.”

Hardy leaned against the wall, looking out at the water. Others would find it soothing. He didn't. “Do you think they arranged this? Set up the chatter, tricked him into coming, used him as bait to lure his father or Keleft out?”

Gibbs shook his head. “I think they wanted Malloy where he was too much to risk that.”

Hardy watched the waves. “You're sure he's that important to them?”

“He's head of their legal department. What do you think?”

“I'd say it was a sign they're in trouble.”

Gibbs laughed. “He pissed you off playing word games and stalling for days. You think he never did that with foreign governments or bureaucrats up on that damned hill?”

Hardy grunted. “We don't have any proof this isn't the NSA.”

“Gotten good at knowing when someone's trying to manipulate me,” Gibbs said. “Dewhurst is. Keleft is. The NSA? They're being a pain in the ass. Might be trying to punish Malloy, but if they're running an op here, we'd have seen it.”

Hardy wanted to believe that, but he hadn't seen the Calling, and they'd almost gotten Miller's son. They had gotten his friend. “I don't like it. These men have ties to Kennedy, and they just happen to pick here to set up their terrorist cell?”

Gibbs shrugged. “He came here after the chatter, not the other way around. It's possible Keleft chose the Calling because of Malloy.”

Hardy glanced toward him. “You think he did?”

Gibbs shrugged. “They met in Dubai. Keleft recognized him. He knew Malloy was NSA. If he went looking for a recent action or had someone researching my team—which might have been easier to do—we're not half as classified. The Calling would have come up. That was our last major case before that Dubai bombing.”

“Broadchurch makes no sense as a terrorist target.”

“You had kids here they could reach, and they were using a damned boat to stay mobile off your coast. Seems like it worked just fine.”

“Something's still missing.”

Gibbs took out his phone. “McGee. You got a damned answer for us yet?”

* * *

“McGee hasn't gotten enough from their computers. I still don't have my answers,” Gibbs said, leaning over the hospital bed. Ellie watched him, not sure she wanted to go through this again, even if this man was their best source. “I need them from you. Which of them will make their move first?”

“Gibbs... your head... looks like a football.”

“Focus, Malloy,” Gibbs ordered. “Who will make his move first—Keleft or Dewhurst?”

“You would think... Keleft... because Dewhurst... has to... go home... for appearance's sake,” Kennedy answered. He put a hand on his side, closing his eyes. “Keleft... stole from him... damaged his most prized possession... those things... have to be... answered... punished. Swiftly. Harshly.”

“So he's coming here?” DiNozzo asked. “That's simple, then. We can set a trap for him if he does.”

“That doesn't fit,” Bishop said. “Dewhurst is careful, methodical, plans steps ahead. Granted, we have his one weakness sitting right here, but he wouldn't risk going after Jake now. That gives Jake too much credibility and spoils his long term plans.”

Unfortunately, Ellie agreed with her. Dewhurst didn't dare come near his son until the case was dropped, until everyone's guard was down and he could get Kennedy without being spotted this time. 

“Malloy?”

“He wouldn't come,” Kennedy said. “Not him. He never... does that... may have... touched me... but never... never got his own hands... dirty.”

“Are we sure he'd even make a move like this? Killing Keleft?” Bishop asked. “I know he's abusive and controlling, but you said he never killed anyone. Is he thinking... financial or maybe—”

“He never killed anyone. Someone else did,” Hardy interrupted, his eyes not leaving Kennedy. "And you know who that someone else was, don't you?”

“Seriously?” DiNozzo frowned. “I mean, I get you were scared of the guy, but not giving up a killer? You had the NSA, you had the police, you had us... Your father is scary, but without this guy, he'd be nothing, right? Or is the detective here saying it was you, Jake? Because if he is and he's right... well... it's not just explaining you're going to have to do."

Ellie watched Kennedy, aware that everyone else was. He curled up on himself again, despite the ribs and the protests of Doctor Mallard.

“Wasn't me... Couldn't dirty my hands, either."

"A name. Now." 

"Was... his friend...” Kennedy shuddered. “Chief constable...”

“Bloody hell,” Ellie said, horrified. She wanted that to be anything other than true. Kennedy was traumatized. Drugged. Hallucinating. He couldn't be sure, wasn't right, but then he had said before the chief constable had done more than turn a blind eye to the abuse. “No wonder you're terrified of the police.”

“You saw that bastard kill people?” Gibbs demanded, sounding like he was about to hurt Kennedy no matter how traumatized he was.

“Told you I was... committed,” Kennedy said. “Or did you think... that was for fun?”

“I want his name.”

“Won't matter. Gave it before. He died... few months... after I... escaped... too late by then,” Kennedy said, and Mallard moved in to try and calm him again. “I don't know who... my father uses now... He has a lot of employees... other ties... Tried... at first... look at the files... find anything... was so... upset... unstable... thought the NSA... would let me go...”

“You stopped looking.”

“Had to... take a step back... Taylor said... promised... he'd keep up the investigation. I believed him.” Kennedy took a breath, trying to calm himself. “I can almost guarantee... my father will send someone after Keleft. I don't know who. Someone who can... get in and out... without notice... someone who is already here...”

“We can track new arrivals,” DiNozzo said. “I'm guessing you even know a few of them, seeing as this place is not that big.”

Ellie sighed. “Even I don't know everyone here, but yes, we can watch the road and monitor CCTV. That may not be enough.”

“No one has asked about Keleft,” Bishop said, getting everyone to look at her. “Is that because we assume he will flee, or because none of you is willing to admit you're planning on using Jake for bait?”


	29. Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team sets a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: never, ever write a crazy idea again. Ever.
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> This went darker but didn't really make sense without the darker, and the one idea is still crazy but was the something missing Hardy wanted, and it fit. Well, as well as anything does in this one.
> 
> Never again.

* * *

“I must object, Jethro,” Ducky began immediately following Elanor's question. “Jakob is in no state to be used as bait. You've seen him. He is in severe distress mentally and emotionally, and he cannot defend himself. This is all very similar to things he has experienced in the past, and the psychological fallout that would happen if he does survive could be catastrophic. As it is, I worry a great deal about his ability to overcome the trauma he has been forced not only to reveal but to relive in both senses of the word.”

“Um, you know he's still in the—” Anthony began, but Jethro spoke over him.

“Need him, Duck. Keleft won't be fooled by some policeman lying there in his place. If we move him or attempt a switch, he'll know.”

“We know he is watching us—or at least one of us—or he would never have known where to send that little bastard who tried to kill him,” Hardy said. “We don't know how many people are working with Keleft or his Calling. We can't watch for them or find them when we don't even bloody know who they are. That theory about the tourists doesn't help, and you can't just assume it's someone who looks foreign.”

“Agreed, but we did get a name from Jakob already. We have been looking for the man Boyers that he told us about—”

“Who may not be the man we're looking for or the only one working with Keleft,” Jethro said. “We need Keleft.”

“You had him in custody,” Ducky reminded him. That case was far from finished, with Timothy and Abigail still at work for answers. They could have waited for more results.

“We couldn't make the case,” Hardy said. “CPS wouldn't have prosecuted, and we couldn't get an extension. Part of that was probably my arsehole of a CS, but it still means he and all the children he was able to recruit besides Keith Moon and Micheal Lucas would disappear.”

“That's not going to happen, Ducky. Not on my watch,” Jethro insisted. “We are going to get Keleft. And when we do, we'll get Dewhurst with him.”

Jethro's plans did tend to work, and his confidence was not usually ill-founded, but that did not mean that Ducky cared for this situation. It would have been difficult to agree to Jethro using Timothy or Anthony as bait, and that was after years of seeing both of them competent and ready to defend themselves. Jakob was in no state for that. Given all Ducky knew, it was a wonder he had held any of his mind intact to escape his father, and the other extreme measures he'd gone to in order to save himself had not done him any favors.

“You heard Jakob. His father won't make an attempt on him or Keleft.”

“Keleft needs Malloy if he's going to go against Dewhurst. He might escape now, but he'd be in the same boat as his son, always looking over his shoulder, waiting for an attack. He knows, and we know, that he needs to take out Dewhurst if he's going to be free.”

“Unless he builds a strong enough terrorist organization or joins one,” Elanor said. “He was trying to do that with the Calling.”

“Except he can't,” Anthony said. “He had to wait years to even try it, and he hasn't managed it yet. Jake told us Keleft can't control himself as a true believer. Keeps slipping up. He wouldn't last as a terrorist. He could fool a few teenage kids who don't know any better, but he couldn't fool the true fundamentalists. Right, Jake?”

Jakob sighed. “His inability to follow... all tenets of his beliefs... not a guarantee.”

“I agree. I think you are being overly optimistic about this,” Ducky said. “You can't be sure that will be true or that Keleft will think it necessary to go after Jakob. It might be that he would ignore that and simply flee with as much resources as he can.”

“Dewhurst will cut off any money or resources he can,” Hardy said, looking to Jakob for confirmation of that. He got a nod.

“If this works, we get Keleft, we get Dewhurst's agent, and we force Dewhurst's hand in the process,” Anthony said. “'Cause Keleft, he has to go after Jake. He needs Jake to draw Dewhurst out. So he's not going to kill him. They're going to try and take him, but we're going to stop them.”

Elanor turned to her ex-husband. “Are you really okay with this?”

“Honestly? No, but... I can see how it makes sense. I... I still don't know... that there is any other option. If I knew where he kept his leverage... or if he hadn't—if I hadn't—damaged my credibility so much... If this works, it all ends... and if it doesn't... you haven't lost much, have you?”

Ducky winced. “Jakob—”

“In so many ways... it's all my fault... this doesn't even come close to making it right.”

“It's at least a start.”

“And it's a good plan.”

Ducky didn't deny that. “That doesn't mean I have to like it.”

* * *

“I suppose it is fitting it has come to this. You were always his best weapon, even when you'd escaped him. I thought about killing you. I thought I wanted to,” Keleft said, and Jake tried to stay still, as much as the sound of that voice sickened him and wanted to drag him into memories or the worst of hallucinations. “It wouldn't have changed anything. You are still his weakness. And mine.”

Jake knew that there were other cameras in the room besides the ones they'd left in place for Keleft to see and disable. He'd had a hard time with that, but he'd tried to ignore it, not wanting to be any more trouble, though even now, the cameras made him want to panic.

They could see and hear everything, though. They knew Keleft was here.

He was doing something Tony would call monologuing, and he would be enjoying that, though Jake couldn't. As much as he tried to be calm about this, having one of his childhood monsters standing over him again made him want to break down, to scream and cry and run.

He might still do it, even with his broken feet. If Keleft touched him again...

“Do you remember the first time he introduced you to me?” Keleft went on. “You were so small, smaller than your age because you were afraid, but he called you his legacy as he pulled you forward. He said you were the finest thing he ever created.”

Jake shuddered. He did remember that. He didn't want to, had tried to forget it, but he couldn't. All the lies... the secrets... they were all known now, or would be. If he hadn't rambled on about them while he was drugged, Keleft was about to say it, which wasn't like him, but then... maybe he figured this for a trap and was waiting for a sign someone was listening.

Nothing he'd done yet was technically illegal... just against the facility's visitor policy.

“Oh, you are awake,” Keleft said, reaching over to touch his cheek. “You are better at pretending to be asleep now than when you were younger.”

“Why would you... even say that?”

“I remember watching you in your sleep, long hours through the night, and I knew then you were poison. You corrupted me.”

“No. I didn't do that to you. You were sick long before you met me... he just gave you access to what you wanted, you sick bastard.”

Keleft shook his head. “You and your name calling. And your delusions.”

“I'd rather you were a hallucination... than actually here in my room,” Jake admitted. “You know you can't—if they haven't arrested you... they will.”

“Oh, you amuse me. They have nothing. I didn't spend all those years with your father and learn nothing from him.”

“You're here. That's enough.”

“No, it isn't,” Keleft said. “A pity they found the yacht, but there are other ways of taking you from here. Denying him you will be as satisfying as everything I do to you.”

Jake gagged. “You're a terrorist now. Not... not that.”

Keleft laughed. “I wonder... All of those friends and agents that you've found, how many of them would stay if they knew what you did for him? They don't know, do they? And if they did, none of them would help you. After all, you were so willing and eager to please—”

“No. I was terrified of him, and I did what I thought would spare me pain, but I did not—”

Keleft covered his mouth. “You rewrite history as you see fit, but I remember. And I have the recordings he made. His leverage. They thought I tossed it into the water, but why would I do that when there are so many people I can use against him? Or them? Having that made Broadchurch perfect. I knew I'd never be caught here. Well, not before you came and ruined it. You deserve all your father will do to you and more, but not before I'm done with you.”

Jake reached up to try and get the hand off. They had to be wrong, and his father's agent wasn't coming. It was just Keleft, and he would make his move now. He'd already taken too long.

“I never thought you were brave enough to go near him again. You surprised me by coming here looking for my group. That wasn't supposed to happen. He had other plans for getting you back,” Keleft went on, barely reacting to Jake's attempt to free himself. “Oh, stop struggling. It's tedious and pointless. You never won, and while it satisfied him more to dominate you like that, it never pleased me.”

Jake bit his hand, and Keleft drew back, smacking him with his other hand, cursing at him in Arabic. He pulled a syringe from his pocket, and Jake forced himself to move, trying to get off the bed even if he couldn't get far.

“Keleft.”

Jake stilled, not the only one to tense up at the sound of that voice. He was hallucinating again, wasn't he? He was hearing a voice that should be hundreds of miles away, enjoying the office his father had helped him get, not anywhere near here, blocking the door.

Keleft was on his other side. There was nowhere to go, and the shadows were jumping in the far corner. He didn't know what was real now.

“Still allowing yourself to be under the hand of the oppressor,” Keleft said, snorting with derision. “You are pathetic.”

“You just told the kid you intended to use me, same as he did,” the other man said. “Quit pretending to be righteous. He's right. You're a sick bastard. You always were.”

“As if you were any better. You took over killing for him after your former employer died, but you weren't immune. He had the same hold over you he had over everyone.”

“Only I was smarter about it. I chose the path with power, not religion. Yours won't save you, but I'll look like a bloody hero for taking out the terrorist threat to my once peaceful community.”

“You killed Abdul?”

“Well, I won't get credit for him. He'll look like any suicidal jihadist,” the other man went on, and Jake swallowed, a bit relieved to hear that the Boyers was dead. “You won't, but you will die in custody, refusing to betray your cause. I thought you'd enjoy that touch.”

Keleft snorted. “You think I will allow you to take me there? You're a fool. You should have come prepared to kill me, because I will give them everything I have on you, and you know he's already told. If he lives or goes free, you won't.”

“I didn't betray him. You did. He'll see to it anything you say is discredited, just like he did his son. No one believes him, just like they didn't believe him when he tried to tell them about that murder. There's an advantage in being the police. People tend to take our word over terrorists and mental patients.”

“You leave me with little choice, then,” Keleft said. “It may be petty, but I'll have some satisfaction in knowing I robbed Dewhurst of his son for good.”

Before he'd finished speaking, the needle was in Jake's arm, and the machines were screaming as everything went dark.

* * *

“You know this is absurd.”

“I don't know any such thing,” Hardy said, dropping the folder down on the table with disgust. “I've got a terrorist in the other room that will gladly tell me all I want to know about you, and I've got you on video admitting to being a killer. And I thought you were just a micromanaging arsehole.”

“It will never go to court.”

“Because you think Dewhurst will intervene for you,” Hardy said. That wouldn't happen. No one would let it, but this idiot was overconfident and not seeing the obvious. “Aye, I'm aware of that. I'm also aware it won't happen. I let the bastard go because I couldn't make a case, but I have Keleft. I have you. And I have a lot of evidence from that damned boat.”

“That is evidence against Keleft, not me.”

Miller shook her head. “Not just against him. He was using that yacht to recruit vulnerable youth, but that wasn't all that was on that boat. He kept a copy of Dewhurst's leverage on it, and we have that now. You've already told us what we'll find there about you.”

“You killed for him. You also apparently mo—”

“I didn't kill for him.”

Hardy glared at him. He should have taken the interview with Keleft instead of giving that to Gibbs. “Exactly how stupid do you think we are? You were on video admitting to your part in killing Abdul Firman. And if my guess is right, you had something to do with the body we found in the water, too. Big man, brother to the one Agent Bishop shot.”

“We'll wait on forensics for that,” Miller said. “Good as they've been lately, I think they'll find something connecting you to that body, even in the water, and we already know you were on the boat.”

The CS shook his head. “No. I was never on the boat.”

“I have fingerprints and DNA that says otherwise,” Hardy said. He wanted to ask Kennedy about that, see if he could put him on the boat, but they were still waiting for word on his condition after Keleft gave him that sedative. “None of you thought the yacht would ever get searched, not even that arsehole Dewhurst. You were sloppy.”

“I wasn't on that boat.”

Miller reached into her folder, taking out the photograph of the cabin. “Your fingerprints are all over this sink, and your hair was in the drain. You were on the yacht. You know Keleft. You know Dewhurst. You know his son.”

“Keleft killed that man. Not me.”

Hardy leaned forward. “You cannot put all of this on Keleft. You admitted to killing Abdul Firman. On video. We have you for that. We have you for a lot more than that. So if you want to start taking your chances as a cop behind bars, go right on ahead. I'll lock you up in there myself. What do you think, Miller?”

“I think he's right and it won't make it to court,” Miller said. “Not for the reason he thinks, though. Dewhurst will blame you, you know. You were supposed to stop Keleft. You didn't.”

“I was across the room when he did it.”

“Considering the man's insane when it comes to his son, I don't think he'll care,” Miller said. “I would not want to be you. If you being a cop doesn't get you killed in prison, that will.”

“Aye, it would,” Hardy agreed. He picked up his folder and rose, but the other man's voice stopped him.

“Wait,” the CS said. “I... I'll tell you what I know.”


	30. Unlikely Suspects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the trap leads to more parts of the conspiracy and some evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down today with this feeling that I needed to finish this story as soon as possible. It just needed to be done.
> 
> That's a bad feeling to have, because one, it destroys any enjoyment in doing it, but then if you're having doubts, it seems like the best solution is just wrapping things up. I wanted this done so badly. I couldn't find a way to wrap it up in this chapter, which made things worse. I just... I think the story works, but it doesn't, and that drives me more insane than usual, and I really do wish I could just have finished it this afternoon.
> 
> Instead, I tried to fix things, almost stalled out and gave up, and finally had this... and so maybe there is an ending. I have no idea anymore. I guess I was right before when I was afraid I couldn't write anymore... I can't.

* * *

“Any word yet?” Ducky asked after making his way through the waiting room to take a seat next to a very exhausted looking Elanor. She should not be in this position, though in her current wounded state and given her past connection to Jakob, the role of his caretaker fell to her.

She looked up from a study of her hands, taking a deep breath as she did. “From the doctors or from the others?”

“Either one, my dear. I'm afraid Nicholas' nightmare and subsequent distress kept me away from this trap I protested so vehemently against,” Ducky mused aloud. Elanor frowned, but he held up a hand. “Were it anything else, I might have worried that I was being deliberately kept away during its execution, but I know that not to be the case. I came as soon as I had Nicholas calmed, but it would seem I missed almost... everything.”

Elanor nodded. “In some ways, there wasn't much to miss. We all spent most of the night waiting before Keleft went into Jake's room. He... talked to Jake.”

“I take it the things he said were... unpleasant.”

“Very,” Elanor said. “He blamed Jake for his own actions, twisted his... obedience to his father into something it wasn't. He made it... well, you can probably guess what he said. Then when Jake tried to argue with him, he covered his mouth. It was the first threatening thing he'd done, but we had to wait, to see if anyone else came.”

“And someone did.”

“I don't think anyone believed it at first,” Elanor said. “If Director Vance had done it, I know I wouldn't, but then he's not that kind of man. Even so... I think Hardy and Miller had a hard time accepting what their superior had done.”

“I admit I find myself having some difficulty with that revelation,” Ducky said. “Jakob did tell us that another policeman was involved and had, in fact, killed for his father, but to have another one revealed here is deeply unsettling.”

“Keleft said it was part of why he chose Broadchurch to rebuild the Calling. He had his copy of Dewhurst's leverage and planned to use it against Milford if he needed to,” Elanor said. “Keleft thought he was being smart. Jake's guilt causing him to come here and investigate the chatter disrupted his plans, though it probably would still have worked for Keleft if you hadn't recognized Jake in front of Detective Miller.”

“Agreed. Jakob's trauma was still very much keeping him in silence, as was his fear of losing the NSA protection he believed kept him from his father all this time,” Ducky said. “What happened when Milford confronted Keleft?”

“They argued. Keleft claimed Milford was just Dewhurst's pawn, and Keleft got angry.”

“Oh, dear.”

“He injected Jake with a sedative. It didn't sound like he was there to kill Jake, but when he did that...” Elanor shook her head. “I don't know. His monitors went crazy, he was convulsing... Gibbs and Tony rushed the room. Gibbs subdued Milford, passed him over to Hardy and Miller, and Tony got Keleft. The doctors came in and took Jake... I've been waiting for word ever since.”

Ducky put a hand on her shoulder. “While Jakob's body has under gone a great deal of stress lately, I do believe he is strong enough to make a full recovery, and we did believe Keleft had no intention of killing him. There is still hope.”

“I know,” Elanor agreed. “I just... I really didn't think I would be here again. I had thought I was mad enough not to care, and then... everything changed.”

“A great many of the truths we had accepted or at least wanted—the end of the Calling with the death of Daniel Budd—have been called into question. It is only natural that you would experience some upheaval as a result. We all have, though to a much lesser degree.”

“I should check with Tony and McGee, see where they are with the evidence and the interviews.”

“In a moment, my dear,” Ducky said. “I do believe that doctor has come to discuss Jakob's condition.”

* * *

“Everyone here seems pretty rattled,” McGee observed, looking around the room. The police station was quieter than NCIS even when most of the desks were empty, and the detectives kept looking toward the hall where Abby had seen Miller and Hardy go, completely ignoring her, which was more than a little unusual.

“Can you blame them?” Abby asked, looking over at him. “It's not every day you arrest your boss after they admit to being a killer for hire and other nasty things on video.”

McGee nodded, still distracted. Abby supposed she couldn't blame him. They'd had a traitor at NCIS before, but it wasn't the same thing. Lee hadn't been in charge, but she had seemed like a friend to them. They'd liked her. That almost made it worse.

Almost. This guy was supposed to be a cop, and not just any cop, the cop in charge. He could have done a lot of really bad stuff and gotten away with it, and he had power. People might have believed that he could ruin them or hurt them and gone along with him. It was scary, thinking about it like that. What if he'd coerced one of the other officers to do things? Maybe he could have made them kill, like Dewhurst supposedly had him, or maybe he'd use that power to make them do what he wanted in other ways, like... sex ways. That was just wrong.

She was glad they'd stopped him. Very glad.

“Do we know anything about this guy?” McGee asked. “I mean, besides what he does now? I've been so buried in all those computers I haven't had a chance to look.”

“I know, and I would have been helping if I hadn't had all those forensics to sift through,” Abby said. She'd left stuff for the locals, but she'd tried to do anything and everything she could, wanting the results faster, needing to help her team. “I did take a few minutes while I was waiting on a test to look him up, though. Harold Milford. He's only been here in Broadchurch for a few months. He started out his service under the chief constable Jake told us about that was best friends with Dewhurst. And I do mean best friends. There are a lot of photos online of those two buddying up. They were very close. There's pictures of them at parties, fishing, hunting... They did just about anything together.”

“Abby, if I were Gibbs—”

“You're not, but I take your point,” Abby told him. “Anyway, he did serve with Dewhurst's BFF. He didn't stay there. He took jobs and moved up through the ranks, probably with some help from his friend Dewhurst. Now, a few hinky things happened everywhere he worked, but no one actually connected him to them.”

“Hinky?”

Abby nodded. “A few minor snafus, or what seems like minor ones when you're not looking for more, but while this guy was there, offices would have a lot more problems like lost or contaminated evidence, misfiled paperwork, all small mistakes anyone could make, and most of them not on cases he was directly involved in. Milford wasn't seen as a part of it, so he kept on getting promoted and moved around until he reached here. There was also a spike in unsolved crimes while he was in each office, but Brian told me I was being paranoid and trying to make a connection when I mentioned it to him. I'm not sure I like him. I do... but I don't.”

“Well, he has helped us,” McGee said. “Though... there's something about him...”

Abby rolled her eyes, almost sure she knew what that was about.

“Any word on Jake yet?” Abby asked, looking back at McGee. “I haven't heard anything, and it did look bad when he got stabbed with that syringe.”

“You didn't watch the video past that?”

She almost hit him. “I did. I got to watch them take the bad cop out of the room and the terrorist, and then they took Jake into another part of the facility because he was, you know, overdosing on a sedative, and that part I didn't see.

“Easy, Abby,” McGee said. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize—I was still trying to break that encryption, so I didn't see most of it myself. And I don't know how Jake is. No one's sent any word. If you want, you can ask Ducky for us.”

“I will,” she said. “And you had better get that information to Gibbs.”

“He's in interrogation,” McGee said, and she just looked at him. “Abby, please. I haven't violated rule twenty-two in years. I am not going to start now.”

Abby just looked at him.

He sighed. “I'll see if I can find Tony.”

* * *

“The bloody chief super,” Ellie muttered, not able to hold back her disbelief any longer. She leaned against the wall outside the interview room, trying to accept what she'd just heard. She could replay it all in her head, like some horror movie. She was still not sure she believed what she'd heard, not one bit of the man's confession, even if it made some sense with Keleft's schemes and even fit with Dewhurst.

He'd found one corrupt cop, and he'd used him to find more. They needed to look into anyone who had ever worked in that office. None of them could be trusted. Hardy had pushed the bastard for names, but he claimed not to know of any others that Dewhurst and the chief constable

“We knew there were bent cops involved.”

“In Dewhurst's home constabulary, not here,” Ellie said, shaking her head. “God, this nightmare doesn't seem to end. There's all he did to his son, but Dewhurst had people killing for him, and more than one of them was police. That is horrifying.”

“Aye.”

She heard something in his voice, and she looked at him with a frown. None of this was good, but she could tell that more than just the possibilities were eating at him. “What was that? What is it?”

Hardy grunted. “Was so busy avoiding his irritating arse, I didn't see it. No sign of the killer, just the bureaucrat. Hated him. Really hated him, but didn't get the sense he was murdering on his holidays.”

“None of us did,” Ellie said. “I avoided the bastard, too. Even when he was telling me to shut down the Calling part of the case or arrest Kennedy, I thought that was just him being stupid over the bloody budget. If you hadn't set Keleft and Dewhurst against each other and baited them, we might never have known what he was.”

Hardy grimaced. “Don't say that. Neither of us is that incompetent.”

“Oh, thanks for that.”

He shrugged. “Over time, dealing with him, we'd have found something that told us what he was. We just didn't have the time yet.”

“Maybe you would have,” she said, knowing how suspicious he was, but she wasn't there yet. Not with everyone. She'd trusted a lot more, tending to give the benefit of the doubt over his relentless cynicism. “I missed it with Joe. I was married to that bastard and never saw it. He was a killer. A pedophile.”

To her surprise, Hardy almost seemed to be comforting her. “According to Joe, he'd only started feeling like that in the few months leading up to Danny's death. It may not have been as long term as you believe. He also mentioned you had taken on extra shifts to save up for your holiday. Easy to miss things when you're not home.”

“Like your wife cheating?”

Hardy didn't answer that, but she knew he was probably thinking about it. He'd missed Tess' affair until it ruined his case, and while she'd never really asked, she assumed it was what made him almost... kind about Joe.

“You two having a pity party out here or what?” Gibbs asked, and Ellie looked over to see him standing in the hallway, looking annoyed as ever.

“Keleft give you anything?”

“Bastard wants a deal.”

Ellie frowned. “I got the sense that you did not deal.”

“I don't. What did that one tell you?”

“Tried to claim the killing was all his former supervisor, the chief constable Kennedy told us about. He didn't do any until he was told to kill Keleft,” Hardy muttered, shaking his head. “Don't buy that, but not sure I can prove anything unless we can tie him to the man we found in the water.”

“Boss,” DiNozzo said, jogging up to them. “McGee said he finally cracked that encrypted sector on the computer. Looks like we have all the proof we need Keleft was trying to set up a Calling shop here. McGee thinks he has a list of all his contacts.”

“Including CS Milford?” Ellie asked. “Was Keleft in contact with him?”

“Oh, yeah. Milford was well aware Keleft was in town. After he learned we were looking for him and the Calling, he asked for help shutting down the case, he said they might all win if he made it seem like Jake was the killer. Jake couldn't be a threat to either of them, but Dewhurst could get him out if he wanted, and everyone would be happy. Well, except Jake, who got to go back to his bastard of a father.”

Hardy looked at her. “Milford lied to us again.”

Ellie sighed. “They always do.”

* * *

“You want to try this again?” Hardy asked, sitting down across from Milford. “Because I sure as hell don't. You wasted my time with pointless requests, and now you're doing it with lies. I've had enough lies on this case. Just about every damned person in it has lied. The difference between them and you? You're not even good at it.”

“He's right,” Miller said. “You're terrible, and you didn't fool anyone. Not us, not Keleft, and not Dewhurst.”

“I have to wonder who he'll send after you,” Hardy said. “You were given Keleft, and you blew that one. You even let Keleft hurt Dewhurst's son. I don't know, Miller. You think we should pretend we buy his lies and let him go?”

“It would give us another member of Dewhurst's organization,” Miller said. “Though we do know who most of them are by now between Dewhurst's son and the leverage Dewhurst kept on everyone.”

“You keep mentioning that,” Milford said. “If you had it, you'd use it.”

Hardy had every intention of using what they could, taking every proof of criminal activity and building it into a larger case. Trouble was, while some of it was still something people would kill to keep quiet, it wasn't something they could use in court.

“There are some things that we might agree to keep out of the courts,” Miller told him. “Not for your sake, but I think you'd appreciate it all the same.”

Hardy gave her a look. They were not protecting this bastard. “It should be on his record. Bad enough he's a cop, but if what he admitted about his involvement with Dewhurst is true... well, he'll wish we let Dewhurst kill him.”

“You two are like a bad film. Lousy acting and worse plot.”

“That's the thing,” Hardy said. “We're not acting. I'd be glad to hand you over to Dewhurst if it meant getting that bastard to incriminate himself. He won't, we know that, but you did. You were on that video. We have your emails with Keleft. You knew he was a terrorist. You knew he was exploiting children. You were prepared to hide evidence and arrest an innocent man to protect him. What was it? Were you planning on using Keleft to get out from Dewhurst's hold? You're edging your way closer to retirement. You probably thought helping him might make that more comfortable. You'd have your cut of the money that Keleft took from Dewhurst.”

“Keleft tried to use me like he tries to use everyone. He thinks he's so religious. He gives terrorists a bad name. He didn't use me. I had every intention of ruining him. I could have easily done it. I didn't need leverage.”

“And we believe that... why?” Hardy asked. “You micromanaged us. I figure that's something you picked up from Dewhurst. He's controling, and you learned a lot from him, didn't you? So you have leverage of your own. You planned on using it against Keleft, but only after he'd finished his recruitment. You were going to get the yacht, the money, and the deluded army he'd created.”

“Only we found Dewhurst's son, which upset everyone's plans. Dewhurst came down himself to get his son. He used the yacht you were both fighting over, and he ordered you to kill. You no longer had enough leverage over Keleft, not until he went against Dewhurst's son. You were going to kill Keleft, but he turned that on you, too, by attacking Dewhurst's son. You've failed, he's failed, and Dewhurst is still free.”

“And you think that will make it so that I'll give evidence against Dewhurst? Or that Keleft will? He hates Dewhurst, has for years, but he won't tell you anything. The only one that is that stupid is Dewhurst's son, and no one will listen to him. He's certifiable. And dead, thanks to Keleft.”

Hardy would have enjoyed wiping that smile off his face by telling him Kennedy was still alive. He didn't intend to share that fact with either him or Keleft. They'd leak it later, probably, since they still had no good way of getting Dewhurst without it, but as long as both Keleft and Milford believed Kennedy was dead, they were almost cooperative.

“Do you really believe you're safe?” Miller asked. “Because I wouldn't.”

Milford shrugged. “You don't scare me with those kinds of threats.”

“You're lying. Again. You were afraid of him before, and you're still afraid of him now.”

“If I told you about Dewhurst, I wouldn't live to see a trial.”

“No,” Miller disagreed. “If you told us about him, we could arrest him. Keep him in isolation so he can't give orders or arrange for your death. That is the only way you're going to save yourself.”

Milford hesitated. “I might know... something. It might give you the forensics you need. Only he'll know the moment I tell you who did... and it might only get you the chief constable, who's already dead.”

“Did you witness any of those murders?”

Milford shook his head. “No. He made his son watch, liked terrifying the kid, but we only knew about them. We didn't get to see anything. We were supposed to be afraid, not have anything we could use. Keleft might have had leverage, but if he used it, it would have exposed him as the sick freak he is, so he couldn't take that to someone who could actually stop Dewhurst. He did threaten to send it to the NSA, knowing the kid had joined them, but I reminded him it would screw him over, too.”

“He couldn't separate the photos?”

“I knew you didn't have them,” Milford said. “What he had was the rotating code for digital access to the files. They moved, and the passwords changed, but the files could only be edited with one user account—Dewhurst's. The others could access them, but not remove any of them. Printing wasn't possible. Downloading the videos not permitted. The only way to share them was to give out the link. Send that link to someone, and he sees them all.”

“Hackers could undo that.”

“Which is probably part of why Keleft was so interested in recruiting those kids, but he didn't, did he?” Milford shrugged. “It didn't save him. It won't save me.”

“Give us the locations of the bodies,” Hardy ordered. “We'll connect them to Dewhurst, and you might actually survive this.”

Milford laughed. “Are you planning on planting evidence? He'll know. He'll find a way to disprove it.”

“I'm planning on the fact that Dewhurst has been doing this for a very long time,” Hardy corrected. “I'd imagine the first deaths were before DNA was established as definitive evidence. You give us one of those bodies, and we have Dewhurst.”

“Check the grounds around the chief constable's house. He would have wanted to keep them close enough to watch over, and after the chief died, Dewhurst bought that land. Always controlling everything. You'll find something there, even if it's just where the grave used to be.”


	31. Partial Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team talks, and a new bit of evidence might be the answer they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize. I shouldn't use author's notes the way I do, and I also shouldn't be the way I am about stories.
> 
> I do think I know where this one went wrong. The mistake was in doing too much. One or two crazy ideas might have worked, but every new crazy bit that I thought would explain things just made it go more out of control, which started me panicking, and it got worse to where I thought the only way to get back any measure of calm was to get it done as fast as possible. That, and my inability to write action scenes made me skip one, but the main fault is trying to include too much. Had I only done the plot with the Calling, that would have been enough. Instead, I tried to do the redemption/backstory/villain path, and the stuff with Dewhurst, who was not supposed to be in it at all (he was a possible thought for a sequel, not the main story) took over when it shouldn't have. Everything snowballed after that, and I couldn't get it back under control.
> 
> If I was a better person, I would go back and fix it. I'm not, but I will try to give it a decent ending. And probably go back to not writing again. I'd forgotten how bad I am at this.

* * *

“So Keleft wants to deal,” Tony said. “Not too surprising considering he just faced down Gibbs again, didn't win in his whole war with Dewhurst, and failed to kill Jake again. We have such a nice video of him and that other guy confessing, and McGee broke into his computer, so he really didn't have a lot of choice.”

Bishop looked at him. “You think they'll give him something? He was funding terrorism, even if he didn't take any action yet. And he did talk Keith into killing his father—”

“He'll tell them that Keith didn't need help, and I'm pretty sure we'd all agree with that.”

“Tony,” McGee said, shaking his head. “You never even saw him. None of us did.”

“I have a very special quote for you, McDoubtful. 'Some things you see with your eyes. Others you see with your heart.' Or a very special, very creepy profile Ducky did that I read when we were trying to hunt Keith down, looking for places he might hide. Kid didn't have all that fun social media stuff you looked for, but he was hot for teacher in a totally homicidal way. I read those papers. Still want a shower.”

McGee winced. “What is it about Jake that makes people like that notice him?”

“Unfortunately, Timothy, it has to do with being a victim. Predators can spot the signs, knowing what to look for, and while we did not see all of them, we were seeing Jakob at the height of his control over his memories and reactions, where he had effectively buried that life as belonging to another man, not himself. We missed signs, though when I look back on some of my observations of the man, it is clear in hindsight, as I'm sure Elanor agrees.”

Bishop nodded unhappily. “Jake had nightmares, his accent slipped more than once, but I thought it was his idea of a joke, and he was never comfortable traveling. I was able to explain the nightmares off as things we saw at work, same with the traveling. And when I look at it now, I see even more than that, like his discomfort when anyone touched him, his distance from his 'family,' even the way we fought about the kind of housing we wanted. He was trying to find a place he found safe and not like his father's, and I think I pushed too much towards the ones that reminded him of that without even knowing what I was bringing up for him.”

“Point being, McGee, people do end up repeat targets because they'll give off those little signs someone like that is looking for, and Jake did,” Tony said. “That got him on this kid's radar, like any bully might do, but he took it further, and he was willing to kill.”

“Yeah, but we're trained investigators—”

“Gibbs knew.”

“That doesn't help, Tony. I still feel like I should have seen something.”

Bishop shook her head. “Jake did avoid meeting all of you for over a year. I was frustrated by it, but there always was a reason, usually NSA related and classified, so I let it go, but now I'm sure he was doing it on purpose. I still don't understand how he ended up befriending Gibbs like that.”

“If I may offer a hypothesis, I would suggest that Jethro's abrupt nature was actually somewhat... soothing for Jakob. While Gibbs can be harsh and demanding, he is usually direct about what he wants as opposed to the manipulation Jakob experienced prior to this point. And Gibbs, aware of the things we missed as we believe he was, may have continued to foster that sense of safety. We've seen him do it with traumatized children before, and he could have done the same with Jakob. Their fast and unexpected friendship makes more sense if taken in the light of Jethro coaxing a reluctant witness.”

“Gibbs... never asked me... about my past...”

“Jake,” Tony said, well aware they'd all been talking about him while he was in the room again. He'd been sedated by the psycho and almost died, so it wasn't like any of them thought he would hear them, but still. “How are you feeling?”

“Completely... humiliated.”

“Come on, Jake,” Tony said. “No one expected you to fight him off like some kind of superhero. He drugged you, but you survived. We caught him. It's all good.”

Jake gave him a look. “How can you say that? You heard what he said.”

Tony winced, not wanting to go into how they also had that on video. Uncomfortable with all this but knowing it had to be said, and hell, it would be even better if it came from the insensitive one, so he cleared his throat. “No one blames you for that, and if they do, they're stupid. That is still not on you. Surviving is not a crime, and you did what you had to to get through it. That's it.”

“I've never... believed that.”

“I suspect, in part, that was because you had several people prior to your escapee encouraging you not to and even now twisting that against you. Had you ever felt like you could speak to a counselor or a therapist, they may have been able to help with this feeling, but as you never felt you could speak to anyone, there was no voice to counter their insidious claims,” Ducky told him. “The idea of perpetuating blame in such a case is unfortunately common, but far from right. You had no control over your father's actions, and you coped with them as best you could—”

“No.”

“Jake—”

“I really... don't want to do this... now,” Jake said, though Tony had a feeling that was something more like ever. “Why are you all here? Shouldn't you be... investigating more? I would think... the policeman's connection... hard to prove.”

“Did you know him?”

“Met him a few times... when I was younger... he was... the chief constable's protégé,” Jake said, shivering. “I was glad when they sent him... another office... thought maybe... he'd stop... or get caught... Didn't know he was here. Would never have come if I did.”

“You had to know there was a chance you'd run into someone close to your father.”

“I did, but... I had to try... if it was the Calling, you know any of you would have, and you did. I... I felt like I had a part in it... if I had given you the drive when Ellie first asked me... If I hadn't been so focused on keeping it for the NSA... if we weren't fighting so badly... if she hadn't shocked me by telling me... she'd killed someone... would I have done it... in time to save Bradley Simek? Would Agent Dornegut be alive? I don't know... I just knew... couldn't let it start again.”

“And you didn't,” Bishop told him. “If you hadn't been here, I'm not sure they would have known to look for the Calling or connected Keith Moon or Micheal Lucas to it. You did help, Jake.”

“I ruined this case. Between the delay trying to hide my past and the lies and the... my father came in and he took over like always does... and he made me look insane again... you had to rescue me more than once... It... I shouldn't have...”

“Jakob, I think it is time you get some more rest,” Ducky said. “You have been through and ordeal, and it is far from finished. Keleft and Milford are in custody, but your father is not.”

“Gibbs and the locals are up to something, but I don't know what it is right now.”

“I sincerely hope he is not planning on using you as bait again.”

Jake sighed. “It is both the only way... and also... a way it will never work... Keleft was fooled by your obvious surveillance, thinking he'd disabled it and not looking for a second set... my father would look for three other sets and still not say a word.”

“You know that for a fact, do you, Kennedy?”

Jake tensed when Hardy came into the room, followed by Gibbs and Miller.

“Hold on,” Tony said, deciding that he was either going to lighten up the mood a lot or make things a hell of a lot worse. “Can we... settle the name thing already? Because we call you Jake, Ducky calls you Jakob, Gibbs has taken to calling you Malloy, and they're calling you Kennedy. We all know that none of those are your name. Should we be using that one?”

Jake gagged. “No.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Uh, Tony,” McGee began, but his hesitation cost him the reveal.

“It's the same as his.”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Okay, yeah, definitely not using that one. I mean, sometimes I'm not thrilled about being Anthony DiNozzo, Junior, especially not when Senior is calling me Junior, but it's not half as bad as... that. My dad is a lot of things, but he's not a psychotic sadist killer.”

“My father never actually killed anyone.”

“Are you sure about that? Really sure? Because if he did, just once, old body and all, we could get him for life.”

Jake shuddered. “No. I... I saw him hurt people. He hurt me... but the killing... I never saw him kill anyone...”

Tony studied him. “Are you saying you did see your father start beating someone or something and then pass that person off to someone else to finish off?”

Jake swallowed. “I... It doesn't actually help... I don't... he wouldn't... not when he knew that could be connected to him... if a body was found...”

“Milford said you knew where the bodies were.”

“Milford is a lying bastard. Closest I came to that is the time they buried me alive,” Jake said. “Was... being punished... they said they were going to use the grave... someone else... but I'd do... my father... made sure I had... enough air... but I panicked anyway... gave him everything he wanted for months...”

“You didn't mention that before.”

“You tell people you were buried alive, you look even more insane than you were before,” Jake muttered, a bit annoyed instead of scared, which was almost a good change. “Why is everyone here? What do you want from me now?”

* * *

“A way to put your father behind bars would be a start,” Hardy said, and Jake knew that he would never be forgiven for stalling. He hadn't meant to do all of it, and a part of him wished he could make it so none of them knew, as ashamed as he was, as guilty as he was of all the failures and lies, but he couldn't stop himself before the drugs.

Now he seemed to have the opposite problem, talking too much.

“If I thought I could actually do it, I'd offer to kill him next time he comes for me, but... I've never gotten close to that,” Jake said, closing his eyes. “Taylor has extensive files on my father, or he said he did. They might help... No, those aren't real, are they? He lied about all of that...”

“Jake,” Ellie said with a wince, and he knew he'd screwed up again, “Why didn't you mention Taylor's files?”

“I said he investigated him,” Jake said. He did remember that much. He wasn't sure about the rest of it. The sedative must still be working. He was just confused, not seeing weird things. Except the hippo in the corner of the room. That wasn't real. “I don't know... maybe I thought it was implied... maybe I assumed you'd already demanded answers from him... maybe I just didn't think... I was drugged, and I was a mess... it's not an excuse...”

“It's a bit of one,” McGee said, and Gibbs gave him a look. “Um... if there was something you needed me to work on with the computers, I could... I just came to check on Jake before going to the inn to try and sleep for a few hours.”

Gibbs shook his head. “Get some sleep.”

Jake didn't think that was likely to happen. They all wanted to know why Gibbs and the others were here. He was starting to get worried, thinking he must have done something he couldn't remember after the drugs.

Miller took a photograph out and held it where he could see it. “We need to know if you know this person.”

Jake tried not to look. He thought it was familiar, but if it was, he didn't want to see it. He'd lose it again. He was already feeling close to that, a panic building and those phantom bugs crawling around again. “Should I?”

“Malloy,” Gibbs said, and Jake shuddered, about to lose the last bit of calm he had left. “Look at the picture.”

“Please don't make me,” Jake begged, knowing how pathetic it was, but he couldn't do it. He didn't want to see her face again. He couldn't. That was all his fault, too, and he couldn't see her. He'd hurt himself again if he did.

“I do not think this is the way to get the answers you seek,” Ducky began. “He did just wake up from another traumatic experience—”

“Need to know, Duck.”

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry...” Jake whispered, curling up on himself even though his body protested it again. He didn't know who he was saying that to her, if it was to Lynna or to the others. He thought it might be both, but then he could see her standing there next to the bed. It was a hallucination, but she gave him that warm smile of hers, the one she always had when she was proud of him, the one he'd wanted his mother to have. 

The smile went away when his father came up behind her, and Jake tried to stop him even as a part of his brain said neither of them were there. “My fault... don't... please...”

“You were a child, Malloy,” Gibbs said. “You didn't do that to her.”

“I did,” Jake insisted. It was his fault. If he'd been able to hide the pain, if she hadn't been worried about him, she wouldn't have asked about the bruises. If he'd lied better then, she wouldn't have said she would talk to his father. If she had listened to him and gone far way, but she'd said he had to give her the truth. “I... I told her... she saw I was hurting... wanted to help...”

“I don't think I like where this is heading,” Miller said. “Please tell me I'm wrong about this.”

“It may, in fact, be worse,” Ducky told her, though Jake didn't think there was worse than what had happened to Lynna.

“Punish me,” Jake said, repeating the words to his father he'd used before, begging even though he should have know it would do no good. But then his father wanted him hurt but alive, so he could leave Lynna alone. It made sense. “Not her. She was... She was the only one that... was ever nice to me... please don't hurt her... I'll do... whatever you want. I promise. Please... please don't hurt her... Please...”

He saw blood, and he knew he she was dead. It was his fault. All his fault...

* * *

“You're going to have to explain that for the rest of us,” Mallard said, closing Kennedy's door behind him. He seemed worried, and Ellie knew he was not the only one who was. Their case depended on that man being able to testify, and the more details that came out, the less likely it was that he would be able to do so. “Obviously the woman in that photograph is known to Jakob, and it would seem she suffered as well, but exactly what does all of this mean?”

“Keleft refused to talk without a deal,” Gibbs said, and Ellie almost reached over to smack him. She might have done it if Hardy had said it.

“That is not what I asked—”

“Milford did, or at least tried to,” Ellie said. “He gave us a location where he believed Dewhurst and the chief constable kept some of their victims. Cadaver dogs located an unmarked grave, and they found a body.”

“Yeah, but it's only been a few hours since I left Gibbs with Keleft,” DiNozzo said. “Were you bluffing with Jake?”

Ellie wouldn't have let them. “We're not a hundred percent sure of her identity, though the remains did share the same... basic characteristics with the woman in the photograph. Her... purse was with her, and her identification says she was Lynna Tabb.”

“I know that name,” McGee said. “It was in the financial records I dug up on Dewhurst. I looked at every one of his employees for possible fronts like Keleft... She worked for him almost twenty years ago. She was a teacher before he hired her, so it looked suspicious, but I couldn't find any trace of her after she left his employ.”

“Hell of a way to get fired,” Tony muttered, and everyone looked at him. He shrugged. “I'm not the only one who was thinking it.”

Ellie shook her head. Sometimes she didn't believe that man, though he was also a good agent. Still, Hardy was less of a knob. “Lynna Tabb was hired as a tutor for Dewhurst's son. He... did tell us she disappeared, but...”

“Judging from what we just heard, I think we all know why,” Mallard said. “He believes he is responsible for her death. She found out about his father's actions, and he had her killed, likely in front of him. Between that and the number of people he did tell who did nothing, I think his silence becomes even more clear.”

Hardy grunted. “He can't be silent now.”

“I didn't say he would be, though he will need time to recover,” Mallard said. “I don't doubt that he will help you, but the damage to his mind through the abuse and what he has done to recover from it will hinder him, as will any drugs he might have been exposed to, not only at the time he witnessed the murder but after as well.”

“Forensics will probably link the murder to the chief constable, not to Dewhurst,” McGee said. “I'm not sure we've gained anything.”

“Aye,” Hardy agreed. “You may be right, but if he was right about his father starting the beating—which fits because he was begging his father not to hurt her, not the constable—then there could still be DNA or other evidence on that body.”

“Well, then,” Mallard said. “Perhaps this time you'd like to make use of my expertise. Even as an observer, I would very much like to see that body, and Abigail would probably exhaust herself finding new methods to test the forensics to find you what you need. Dewhurst is not just a threat to his son. These men he has corrupted and employed have done a great deal of damage as well, and he must be stopped.”

“We won't have a lot of time,” McGee said. “Dewhurst probably already knows you found the body, which means... Oh. You figure even if we don't get him with what we find on the body, he'll try for Jake again.”

Ellie winced, wishing she could deny it, but she couldn't. It might come to that. Again.


	32. In Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circumstances of Lynna's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will apologize again.
> 
> I know I have said/shown this before, but I am a very insecure person, especially when it comes to writing, and I did panic a lot with this story. I called ideas crazy when they were maybe not crazy but a bit convenient, and I freaked out in very public and very... bad ways. I tried to be better about not letting all that into author's notes, but I failed, a lot.
> 
> I was thinking very hard about deleting this story and possibly giving up my account, and I admit I'm not all clear on that as I'd like to avoid everything as I did act so badly and embarrassed myself and did not do right by my readers or my story. I took the weekend to think things over, wrote a chapter very slowly (part of it was subject matter) and I think this does give it enough where a few other loose ends can be tied up and some closure done (I have a scene for Hardy and Daisy that has been waiting for weeks, it seems.)
> 
> It is not perfect, and the subject matter is unpleasant as there's murder and discussions of other things, but it is done.

* * *

“They found Lynna.”

Jake sounded absolutely miserable, though Tony didn't blame him for that, not after what he'd heard. They all had their share of guilt, and Jake might even have a bit more than most, but when someone had died because of you... well, none of them were ever over that. McGee probably still blamed himself for that witness, and Ducky had so many, and Gibbs... well, Gibbs had a whole family of them, plus agents—Kate—and members of his marine unit... he believed he was responsible for everyone.

Bishop nodded, taking Jake's hand. “They did. Well, Abby just got done confirming that it was her a little bit ago.”

“He didn't tell me... where he buried her. I didn't know.”

Tony frowned. “Jake, no one assumed you—”

“I told them... she hadn't left for another job. I told them... he killed her—that he had her killed—but no one believed me.” Jake shuddered. “He said... I was acting up... was mad she left me... started telling people... I wasn't well... needed therapy...”

“Yeah, we've seen that tactic. A lot,” Tony said, thinking of his conversations with Keleft. “And there are probably people who'd tell you still need some. Therapy, I mean.”

Bishop gave him a look, and Tony shrugged. If she thought Jake was well-adjusted, she was kidding herself, and maybe Tony shouldn't have said it, but he had.

“They want you to give a statement about what happened when Lynna died,” Bishop said, and Jake looked at Tony.

He nodded. Yeah, that was part of why he was still here after everyone else had gone. Abby had lots of forensics to work on, though she'd demanded updates on Jake and the case from everyone. McGee was looking for more stuff on the computer, and Tony didn't remember all the specifics of what he thought he could find or prove, but he didn't want to, not with as much geek speak as McGee had spouted off before he left.

“They are planning on arresting your father again, too, if that helps,” Tony told him. “They should actually have him in custody by now, since they had to wait for the confirmation on her identity before they did it.”

“It might also have been better to wait until we'd heard all of what you know about her death,” Bishop said. “If we don't actually have something to tie your father to her death, he might walk again, and if he does, we'll look like we're trying to manufacture evidence against him.”

“He likes to use that... against people... always making them look... like the ones who were wrong,” Jake said. “I always was... Or he made me think I was...”

“He manage to convince you he didn't kill Lynna?” Tony asked, not sure he believed that.

Jake shook his head. “I didn't... I never forgot her. I didn't... I couldn't make anyone believe me... not before Taylor... and he said without a body... or proof... we'd never get anywhere... needed more... than what I saw.”

Tony turned to Bishop. “You know this Taylor person, right?”

“Yes, though why you're asking me about him instead of Jake, I don't know. They were close, I was introduced to him as Jake's half-brother, and I did believe that, if that's what you're asking,” she said, giving Jake a look that was not good. If he wasn't injured and under threat from his psychotic father, she probably would have hurt him for that by now.

“I was actually wondering if you knew him well enough to know if he would have held back evidence or lied about investigating it,” Tony said. “Or maybe just why he's not answering anyone's calls. I mean, you were on good terms with him before Jake cheated, right?”

“We were... fine before that, yes, and when I did work with him at the NSA, he was completely professional, but then he had to be.”

“I'm just thinking we should have seen him by now.”

“Unless he's on assignment, which wasn't uncommon with him. His father trusted him more than anyone else and tended to favor sending him over other qualified agents,” Bishop said. “He always had a reason for it, like Taylor knowing the language or having contacts in the area, so no one argued with him about it too much, but Taylor was gone more than he was home.”

“Before you ask... his father would have sent him... anywhere... when I did this,” Jake said. “He wouldn't want... Taylor to help me... assuming he would have.”

“You don't think he would?”

“I don't know... about anyone anymore,” Jake said. “It... I've wondered a few times if they just did this to get me to work with them... but then I think... I can't have been worth all that...”

“Your father thinks you are.”

“My father is obsessed... and needs a blood heir... Taylor and his father did not.”

“Is that really all it is?” Tony had to ask. “Because he could have knocked up someone else if that was what he wanted. And I'm not sure why he'd let your mom get away with not giving him a second kid, even if he insisted on staying married to her.”

“I don't know,” Jake admitted. “I... sometimes I wanted... I thought it would be better... but he'd only have hurt them, too... so it wouldn't have been... being alone was bad, but if he did it... no. I'd have tried to stop it... but I couldn't... and I don't... he was... he did say stuff... like I was the best thing... he ever made... it was sickening... but it wasn't true. I don't...”

“Um, not that I really want to say this,” Bishop began, “but there's probably a good likelihood that Dewhurst can't have any more children. He may have caught a disease or had other fertility problems. It would explain why he is that obsessed with getting Jake back. If only a blood heir will do, Jake is the only one he has.”

“Right,” Tony said, feeling awkward after that one, too. “I think we'd better get that statement. What happened when Lynna died?”

* * *

_“You need to tell me what happened,” Lynna said, taking hold of his arm. He flinched, trying not to pull away because that would only make it hurt more. He was bruised bad all over his back. His father had knocked him into the wall when he hit him, and it had made all of him sore. “Please.”_

_“It's nothing,” he said, knowing he couldn't tell her. His father had said not to, and his mother had ignored him when he did. The servants did, too, not that he had to say anything in front of most of them. They knew. They'd seen his father do horrible things to him and done nothing._

_She put a hand on his cheek. “You know better than that. You are a smart little boy. Your mind amazes me, and I know that you know that this is not nothing. It's not normal. And you can't tell me you're clumsy. Sweetheart, I know you better than that.”_

_“I can't,” he choked out, feeling sick. He was ashamed of the things his father did to him, and Lynna was the only one who liked him. If he told her, she wouldn't._

_“You can,” she said. “Whatever it is, I need to know. No one should hurt you like this.”_

_“That's not what the others think,” he said, and she stared at him. “I mean... I didn't... Just go. You're not supposed to be here after your hours are done anyway. He doesn't like it when you stay extra.”_

_“Because he hurts you when I'm gone,” Lynna said, and he tried to shake his head. “It's your father, isn't it? No one else would have that kind of power.”_

_“Go away,” he told her. “You have to. You need to go far, far away. If you stay, he'll hurt you. He gets so mad... you can't stay...”_

_“I know you're scared, but telling someone is only the first step. You're going to be all right. I'm going to help you.” She took a deep breath, putting both her hands on his shoulders. “You need to tell me exactly what he did. I can't do this if you don't.”_

_He thought maybe he shouldn't. “I can't. I... I don't have anything to tell you.”_

_“You have a horrible bruise on your arm, and this is not the first time you've been in pain during your lessons.” Lynna shook her head. “I have been worried about this for a while, but I didn't want to believe it was true. How could anyone hurt a sweet child like you?”_

_“I'm not sweet. Not... good.”_

_“Those are horrible lies he's telling you. Don't believe them for a second. Please. You don't deserve this, no one does.” She hesitated and then pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. He stared at her as she backed away. “I am going to do something about this.”_

_He shook his head again, but before she could say anything else, the door opened. She turned back, looking at his father with anger. She should be scared._

_“What are you still doing here?” His father asked, sounding calm in that scary way he did, where something bad was coming. “His lessons ended more than half an hour ago.”_

_He was late. He was in trouble. He was always supposed to go to his father right after he was done with his lessons. “I'm sorry.”_

_“Don't apologize to him. He should be apologizing to you, but even that wouldn't make this better,” Lynna said. She faced his father. “You hit him.”_

_“Is that what he told you?” His father laughed. “You know how inventive his mind is. He creates such fantastic stories, doesn't he?”_

_“I am aware of his mind. It's a very gifted one, and I know that better than anyone, but he is not making up that bruise on his arm, and you won't convince me that was an accident.”_

 _His father looked at her, that mean way he did when he planned on really hurting someone. He ran over and took her hand, pulling on it._

_“Lynna, go. Please, just go.”_

_“I am not leaving you here,” she said, touching his head. She looked up at his father. “I can't imagine what you think would justify hurting your son, but I won't let you do it again.”_

_“You won't let me?” His father laughed. “You couldn't stop me were that true. You lack the strength. Please take your foolish accusations and leave. You will not get severance pay or a reference, but you are dismissed.”_

_“I won't go. Not if it means leaving him here with you,” she said, and this time she sounded a bit more scared, but he knew it wasn't enough. She didn't understand what his father would do. “You can hide behind your polished manners all you want, but it won't change what you've done. I will make sure you never harm him again.”_

_“Oh, you're tiresome. Exactly who do you think is going to believe you?” His father asked, and she swallowed. “Yes, now you remember. My good friend is the chief constable here, and he is not the only one who would support me over you. After all, what are you? A failed schoolteacher who took this position out of desperation because you can't handle more than one child at a time? You are pathetic. Now get out of my house.”_

_“I will raise a stink all the way to London if I have to,” Lynna said. “I don't care what your title is or who your friends are. You do not get to abuse any child.”_

_He knew what his father was about to do, but he couldn't stop him, even running at him. He hit Lynna, hard, knocking her back so she fell like he had, hitting a table with a sound that made him sick. He caught onto his father's legs, holding on and trying to keep him from going after her again._

_“Punish me,” he begged, though his father had never listened when he did before, sometimes getting so angry he made every bit hurt more. Still, his father never hurt him so bad he could die, but... Lynna. He was afraid his father would kill her. If he was good, maybe his father would let her go. Maybe he could distract him. His father did say he was too distracting for his own good. “Not her. She was... She was the only one that... was ever nice to me... please don't hurt her... I'll do... whatever you want. I promise. Please... please don't hurt her... Please...”_

_His father took hold of his neck, tightening his grip until he cried out. “You will do what I want regardless of what I do to her.”_

_“Please. She was trying to help... she didn't...”_

_“I assure you, you will be punished for allowing this to happen. You know better than to try and tell anyone,” his father said, flinging him away. He hit the floor and moaned, his body aching from where it was already hurt._

_“You bloody bastard,” Lynna said, back on her feet again. She wiped her lip and shook her head. “You just gave me proof of everything, and I will use it.”_

_“You can't prove I did that to you, and no one in this house will agree with your version of events. Not even the one you think you're going to save.”_

_He sat up, biting back a whimper. She needed to leave. She might still be able to go if she didn't fight and promised not to say anything. “Lynna—”_

_“Go, love,” she told him. “Run before he hurts you again.”_

_She went for his father, grabbing hold of his arm. Her nails scratched along it, drawing blood, which made his father snarl with rage and smacked her. He knocked her down and kept hitting her, over and over, making her face red with blood. She stopped screaming, and his father rose, shaking his head in disgust._

_His father wiped his hands on a kerchief as he came closer to him again. “You are somewhat fortunate in that we already had a guest coming tonight.”_

_“No,” he whispered, not liking the guests or what his father made him do with them. “Please...”_

_“Your promise to obey me didn't last long, did it?”_

_“You killed her.”_

_“Oh, please,” his father said, dismissive. “She's still breathing.”_

_He couldn't see that from here. He tried to move toward her, and his father kicked him. He curled up against himself, hurting again._

_“You don't get to move. You will never see her again.” His father looked over at the door as it opened. Only one other person could come in without knocking, and it wasn't his mother. He knew who it was before the chief constable came in._

_That was one guest he really hated seeing._

_“Deal with this,” his father said, gesturing to Lynna. “When you get back, you can help finish his punishment.”_

_The chief constable smiled, and he screamed as his father grabbed him, dragging him up the stairs. He couldn't see Lynna, but she hadn't moved. Hadn't made a sound. She was dead._

_Or she would be when the chief constable was done with her._

_And it was all his fault._

* * *

“I should inform you that I intend to sue your department and both of you in particular for harassment. I will even have a talk with my friend the ambassador about the diplomatic repercussions of this campaign of yours,” Dewhurst said, sounding smug as ever, and making Hardy want to smack him. He was sick of this prick and everyone else involved in the case.

He had texted Daisy, but that wasn't the same as talking to her in person, and he hadn't forgotten how she'd looked in the hospital or the scare they'd had with them thinking she had the same thing he did. Damn nuisance, inconclusive tests. They'd have to watch that now.

As soon as he was done with this. They had everything else, even if Keleft wouldn't cooperate. He didn't understand all of the computer stuff, but it tied him to the terrorism, and that was enough.

“I doubt you'll be doing any suing of anyone,” Miller said. “Or did you really think we brought you back here without something to hold you with?”

“You have nothing,” Dewhurst insisted. “The word of a man you claim is my son, but even my son was delusional when I last knew him, and the word of criminals is no better. You still have nothing, though you should get some credit for bluffing well.”

“I don't bluff,” Hardy said. What he'd done with Claire Ripley was different, and he was not bluffing now.

“You still have nothing.”

Gibbs looked almost like he was going to smile. “Milford was in a hurry to save his ass.”

“We had him on his attempt to kill Keleft, which didn't spare your son,” Miller said. “His life in prison would have been difficult, as he's a cop, but then he didn't think he'd make it to trial because of you. After all, he failed you, your son was injured, and Keleft lived to talk.”

“I find these accusations absurd,” Dewhurst said, shaking his head. “First you say I kidnapped my son. While I had him, I injured him, and then I drugged him. All of this happened while I was in another country, and yet you still insist it happened. Now I am also accused of... what, exactly? Hiring someone—a policeman—to kill a former business associate because he threatened my son?”

“This time the charge is murder,” Hardy said, and Dewhurst stared at him.

“That is more ridiculous than the last one. I've never killed anyone.”

“Well, that's going to be very difficult to prove with your DNA under her fingernails,” Hardy said, knowing that wasn't concrete proof, but even if Dewhurst hadn't killed her, he'd have a damned hard time convincing anyone of that. He continued on with with more pleasure than he should have saying those words. “Considering the one living witness isn't sure that Lynna Tabb wasn't dead when you ordered her taken out of the room, it looks very much like you killed her.”

“I didn't. Lynna left my employ years ago, and if my son is telling you that she was killed—it's not true. He was very upset when she left, and yes, he did make up stories about her as he'd done others, but that's all they are. Stories.”

“His story matches evidence on her body and clothes as well as what we're now getting from your home. You were rather arrogant, perhaps thinking burying her on the chief constable's land would keep her from being found, but then you bought it in the name of a shell company you own. Not smart.”

Miller smiled grimly. “Milford pointed us there, we got her body, and we have forensics. Not just from where she was buried. There's more from your house, from the table she hit and the wood floor under the rug. You must have been angry to lose the one she bled on."

"We changed rugs because the decor gets tedious sometimes. That's all." 

"Not the table," Miller insisted. "And we have your DNA—which we got under a court order but already had thanks to what you left on your son—you proved you were involved in his abduction—”

“I thought you found him naked. Where did I leave DNA on him that could be found?”

“Nowhere it should have been, you sick bastard,” Miller said. “We've added that charge to your arrest as well.”

Dewhurst frowned, and Hardy figured he was trying to be sure he hadn't made a mistake there.

“You just got him back after over ten years. Might have made you sloppy.”

“You wish I was.”

“No,” Hardy said. While they all wanted to nail this bastard, none of them wanted that part to be true. Having the samples they'd taken from Kennedy's mouth come back contaminated had been a setback until that forensics woman from NCIS took another look at it and found something much worse than the rope fibers they'd expected.

“I can add fabrication of evidence to my legal action, then,” Dewhurst said. “You will all regret this. You cannot hope to win.”

Gibbs shook his head. “We have your DNA on Lynna Tabb and a witness that saw you beat her. She likely died when her skull was fractured. The lawyers want you for this. I'm willing to let them have you.”

Dewhurst shook his head. “You can't prove anything except that she touched me before she died. She could have been killed by anyone after that.”

“That the risk you want to take in court?” Hardy asked. “Because it won't just be your son testifying against you. We have experts. We have your former associates. One of them is desperate to avoid a terrorism charge. He'd love to make some kind of deal to save his own skin. And we also have this. You wanted control, so you made leverage. That same leverage condemns you.”

“There are no photographs of me there. No videos.”

“Because you're the bastard holding the camera,” Gibbs snapped. “You let them do that to your son. And don't bother saying you didn't know. You knew. You arranged it. You don't want to know what I'd do to you if it were up to me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It's a warning,” Hardy corrected. “This isn't a game. They will prosecute you for murder, and when they do, everything else will come out. What you did to your son, your illegal business practices, your ties to terrorism. Everything.”

“Your reputation will be destroyed,” Miller said. “The empire you built up gone.”

Dewhurst shook his head. “You found my son, didn't you? Even if you did what you claimed, you found the one it all passes to, and it's not his mother. The ancestral laws are clear on that.”

“Yeah, and you might have thought about that before you made yourself sterile,” Gibbs said. “Your son doesn't want anything to do with your money or your title.”

“Your line dies with you. In prison.”

* * *

“I thought we had him in custody,” Ellie said, taking in the cell with a mixture of disbelief and anger, with a side dish of horror. This shouldn't have happened. It wasn't possible. “He's still in there, trying to pretend he doesn't care that they're going to charge him with murder.”

“He's in custody,” Hardy said, shrugging. “Doesn't mean he didn't arrange it, but it'll be damned hard to prove.”

“You think?” Gibbs demanded, looking up from the body. “Keleft was a terrorist. They'll blame this on his jihad and say it had nothing to do with Dewhurst.”

“I suspect it will be difficult to prove otherwise,” Mallard agreed. “There are no obvious signs of staging, though he exhibited no suicidal behavior prior to his incarceration and was still hoping for some sort of arrangement to be made in exchange for his testimony against Dewhurst.”

“Milford?”

“Just checked,” Ellie said, looking at her phone. “He's fine. Still alive. Still insisting he cooperated.”

Hardy studied the dead man. “We sure it's Dewhurst. That it's not more of the terrorists.”

“Keleft's cell seems to have been isolated, consisting of himself and the man we know more commonly as Boyers,” Mallard answered. “His goal was to recruit the children. While it is not impossible that these methods could be employed again, he had no ties to any major groups besides the Calling. He may have been hoping to use the children to gain that, but all our indications suggest he was working alone. Do feel free to verify that with your own agencies, of course, but that is what I concluded after reviewing the communications Timothy gathered, and our contact in the CIA agrees. She has a stake in making sure that the Calling never rises again.”

“Aye, does she now?”

“The agent that died was her son,” Gibbs said. “She will make sure Keleft's cell was the only one. And if there are others, we'll stop them.”

Ellie nodded. “And Dewhurst... what happens if this murder charge isn't enough?”

“You already know the answer to that. He'll go after his son. And when he does... it ends, one way or another.”


	33. Final Requests and Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewhurst offers a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea last night and wasn't going to do it, because I wasn't sure of the legalities (I barely know them for my own country) and because I knew that there was this sideline/"crazy" thought that would be a horrible (subject matter, at least) sequel to this. I don't think that I will do that as I went far from what I intended here, but it is still a thought not entirely discounted here, not unless someone does something they shouldn't.
> 
> This way, though, I felt that it actually could wrap up, and I liked that, as I very much want to get to my Hardy & Daisy epilogue bit... not that there isn't more needed for the epilogue than that.

* * *

“Your father wants to talk to you.”

Kennedy swallowed, looking like he might puke on them. “I don't want to see him. There's no—no one can force me to do that... He can't even... shouldn't be able to ask... I won't.”

Ellie winced. She hadn't even wanted to tell him, none of them did, but they also couldn't afford to ignore the opportunity. It could be nothing, and knowing Dewhurst, it probably was. He wanted one last chance to torment his son, that was it.

“Bastard wants to plea to involuntary manslaughter,” Gibbs said. “Insists on talking to you first, though.”

That had Kennedy frowning. “He... can't plead that... he had... _mens rea_... meant to hurt her. Should be... at least... manslaughter by an unlawful and dangerous act... but even that... doesn't feel like the right charge... Can't prove he killed her... didn't see it... but she died... and he ordered his friend to deal with her... He might have let her go... if she hadn't argued...”

“You sure about that?” Hardy asked. “I think he wanted her dead from the moment she stood up to him. Doesn't like what he can't control.”

Kennedy put a hand to his head. “He probably did... he just wouldn't dirty his hands... or want her to be validated... if she was found... He would bribed her first... discredited her... and then had her killed later... when it wouldn't connect to him...”

“Him losing control is about the only thing we've got,” Gibbs told Kennedy. “Idiot lawyers are actually tempted by that deal.”

“It should mean prison time, even if there isn't a minimum sentence for it,” Ellie said. “It's just dependent on the judge, which he might think he can get one he can use. It could be the opposite. You can get life for involuntary manslaughter.”

“Either way, it's a bloody trap,” Hardy muttered. She had half a mind to tell him to go home, since she still didn't think he'd seen Daisy since he got back.

“He serves time if he pleas, and he won't be free to come after you. You're spared a trial and everything that goes with it, all of this being public record. Which is what he wants, too, but if you think that's what you want or need, that is your choice.”

“A trial... will be... a nightmare.”

“That doesn't mean you have to talk to him. If they get him for murder... It's likely that sentence will be much longer than the one he would get for involuntary manslaughter and—”

“I know... what it means,” Kennedy said. “My law degree... came from Oxford.”

Ellie sighed. “I was trying to make sure you understood and didn't feel forced into any decision. I hadn't forgotten you were a lawyer.”

Kennedy put a hand on his side. “Sorry. Not trying... to be difficult... just the pain... is bad... and I can't have anything... for it. I may still be... seeing things. Not feeling very good... don't want to see him... but he might say something... can be used... shouldn't... he'll know we'd be listening... recording... but if he thinks... it's over... might help...”

“Yes, but that still doesn't mean you have to do it.”

“Let him decide, Miller. You're not his bloody mother.”

She gave Hardy a look for that, but Kennedy shook his head.

“That's... a compliment... my mother... is a terrible person... You have... some things... in common with Lynna... so does... my Ellie... Brave, strong... willing to fight for... what you love.... and what's right...”

Ellie smiled back at him. She did think Lynna had been a brave woman, facing down Dewhurst. It had cost her her life, but they were going to make sure he paid for it now, finally.

“Think about it,” Gibbs ordered him. “And get some sleep, Malloy. You look like hell.”

* * *

“I was beginning to think you wouldn't come.”

Jake wished he hadn't, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about why his father wanted to see him, if it was just a part of a game or if he was doing this because he actually accepted he was going to prison. He didn't know that he thought his father ever would, but then it could be part of some larger scheme... maybe prison would be some kind of “spiritual awakening” or other game, something he'd use to make a greater empire or gain sympathy.

He shifted in the wheelchair, feeling helpless. He wasn't alone, he would never have agreed to that, even with people monitoring them. Gibbs was there. Jake had insisted on him. Hardy had insisted on himself.

The others were all watching. That bothered him, but he didn't let himself think too much about it, not when he had to get through this.

“I shouldn't have. It's what you wanted.”

His father smiled. “Oh, please. Such petty defiance is unnecessary.”

“No, it isn't,” Jake disagreed. “Why did you want to see me?”

“So businesslike. A shame the rest of you was so ill-suited for it,” his father said, leaning across the table. “Can't a father want to see his son without there being an ulterior motive?”

Jake snorted. “I think it's a quote... your ulterior motives have ulterior motives... You and your damned chess... thinking twenty steps ahead... What game is it this time? Trying to scare me or shame me... not telling them what you did? Trying to make it... so I don't know what's... real... so I doubt... and I won't testify?”

“Oh, those are interesting games, yes, but I don't intend to play those ones. I am playing one I intend to win.”

“You always intend to win.”

His father reached for him, and he jerked back even though he wasn't that close to the table in the first place.

“One warning,” Hardy said. “You move toward him again, and you'll go back to your cell.”

“With a few things broken,” Gibbs muttered, and Hardy seemed to fight a smile... or maybe that was a grimace.

“I would like to hold your hand,” his father went on like there was no one else in the room. “I suppose you won't do that.”

“I won't let you touch me again. Ever.”

“Such a pity,” his father said. “You always were the best thing I ever created. There was such trouble about it, too. Doctors saying it couldn't be done, me wanting to blame your mother when for once she wasn't at fault, and then along comes this miracle. Of course, I didn't trust her. Not her. You know why. I had you tested. You were mine. And that alone would have made you beautiful, but you got all the best of the family features. Your mother's height, unfortunately, but you share some other features with her that I greatly enjoyed.”

Jake shuddered. He forced himself to speak. “Fine. We're done. I'm not playing your game.”

“I won't bother pointing out that you already have,” his father said, “and tell you why I wanted to see you—besides the obvious, of course. I have a request.”

“Like hell you do,” Hardy and Gibbs said at the same time. His father turned and glared at them before facing Jake again.

“I do find your choice of company... irritating,” his father said. He shook his head. “Still, I have always intended for you to be what you were born to be... my heir. I know you feel that I had some... extreme methods in teaching you what you were supposed to be, and you were rather resistant to things that were for your own good, but you are my son.”

“I have spent my entire life wishing I wasn't,” Jake said, knowing that his father would be infuriated by the words. Were they truly alone, that would have gotten him beaten almost as bad as Lynna before his father started on other punishments.

His father looked like he was struggling to keep himself in the chair. Good. Very good.

“Nevertheless, if you want this deal—and I assume you do as you're sitting there now—you will do as I ask.”

“I don't think so.”

“It's not as terrible as you think,” his father said. “I would hardly expect you to give them a showing of your talents. I do, however, expect you to do your duty as my son. You have a heritage that goes back to feudal times. You cannot ignore that.”

“What?”

“I am not pleading to anything—and certainly not something I didn't do—without your word that you will take up your place as my heir. Use the name you were born with and assume the title.”

Jake gagged. He could tell that wasn't what Hardy or Gibbs were expecting, and he hadn't thought it would be that, but then it made sense. His father had done so much to keep control of his empire... he would want an heir when he went to prison.

“No. I am never using that name again. And I would never live in that house.”

“Oh, you can use the other one if you insist as long as you take up the title, and you know there are thousands of properties. You can choose any of them. Or you can build your own to your exact specifications. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Seeing as you have such a thing about windows.”

“You bastard. I wish jumping out of that window had killed me,” Jake said. He looked down at his hands and tried to calm himself.

“I am not making an unreasonable request,” his father said, entirely too calm. “You are my heir, you have the rights to all of it. Take what is yours. Donate an excessive amount to charity if you like. It would be your money to use as you saw fit.”

“I don't... why would you...” Jake didn't understand. “You hate charity... you don't... what if I... gave it all... away?”

“You can't. The ancestral lands don't transfer like that,” his father said. “They were very adamant about it not going back to the crown, and you will have difficulty unraveling all of that, but do try. I doubt you want to close hundreds of businesses and put millions out of work, either.”

Jake didn't. His father's trap was working. He didn't know what would happen if he didn't do what he asked.

“He's only asking you this because we told him his line would die with him in prison. You don't have to do anything.”

His father shook his head at Hardy's words. “No, I think you do, don't you? I've given you the altruistic reason, but there are plenty of selfish ones for you, and I am not just talking about the money. Do you know what it will be like if we go to trial, son? I've got expert witnesses who will testify to your wild stories and imagination, your instability and your need for fantasies. I've even got that sex therapist you went to in hopes of dealing with your addiction. I didn't understand why you always had to throw yourself at my friends, but you seemed to find it fun and liked it dangerously rough.”

Jake choked, his stomach threatening to empty itself. He couldn't stop it. That lie... no. He couldn't take that one. He hadn't done that. He wouldn't have.

“You bloody bastard.”

“Stop trying to intimidate him,” Gibbs said. “You shouldn't even have needed that warning.”

“That was not how it was,” Jake whispered, feeling dizzy. He wanted to cry... no, he thought he was, unless the tears were a hallucination.

“They are trying to make it seem like I am a murderer,” his father said. “I have a right to defend myself. I don't think you'll like it if I do.”

Jake knew he'd hate every second of a trial. “You're only doing this because you think you can control the judge.”

His father laughed. “No, if I thought that, I wouldn't bother explaining my defense.”

“I hate you,” Jake told him. “So much...”

“Oh, but that is what you always say before you do what I want,” his father said, rising from the table and going to the door. “You can take me back to my cell now. He'll do it, and so will I.”

* * *

“You don't have to do it.”

Kennedy snorted, not looking up at Hardy. “You honestly think I'd last... a day on that witness stand? Between my panic attacks... and what he'll say in his defense...”

Aye, there was the trouble, as it had been all through this nightmare with Dewhurst. Too much of it hung on what his son could tell them, and his son was too much of a bloody mess to be of much use. He'd seen more of the man attempting to work with them than before, but he also knew they could easily be back to that break down in the interview room again.

“Doesn't mean you do it,” Gibbs told him. “He thinks you will. That's enough.”

“He'll recant if I don't.”

“Thought you were a lawyer. Pleas don't work that way.”

Kennedy nodded. “I know, but... he'll find some way... of punishing me if I don't... He always does... and if he's angry...”

Hardy wanted to tell him that Dewhurst wouldn't be able to do a damned thing, but he knew that wasn't true. They had Keleft's body in the morgue to prove that. “Still might not be what you think. He still wants you alive, and he might not risk another lackey that won't follow his orders.”

Kennedy shook his head. “I... you are all targets now... I'm sorry... I didn't... I wouldn't have involved any of you... but he... he knows... he knows who you are... he will use that... against me... he'll hurt someone else... won't care if they die...”

“Bloody hell,” Hardy snapped, thinking of Daisy. Would Dewhurst go after her again? Or would he pick someone closer to Kennedy? The ex-wife he was still in love with? Her friends?

Or Gibbs, since he was also behind the arrest.

Hardy almost wished he did carry a gun and Dewhurst had resisted. Or that he was a different sort of man, one who'd arrange an accident of his own for Dewhurst in prison. He would know Daisy was safe, but there were other ways of making sure of that. “Need to know about any judges he might have dealt with before, anyone who could be compromised or already has been.”

“Collier.”

“Shit.”

Gibbs watched him, and Hardy thought that bastard might even be amused, though it was difficult to tell. “You know the name.”

“Aye. Collier tried a few of mine back in Sandbrook,” Hardy said. “Man's a pain in the arse, and he'd throw it because of me, not Dewhurst.”

“Any others?”

“Maybe,” Kennedy said. “I didn't... always meet them... with job titles... McGee... might be able... to help...”

“He's already on it,” Gibbs said. “Not letting this bastard walk again.”


	34. Some Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families meet again, with plans in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this, for many reasons. At this point, I could see either a lot of story going into a trial, a sequel where someone very evil escapes and bad things happen, or other side plots I could go into and never developed as well as I intended. It all seemed like too much, and it needed a stopping point. 
> 
> When I started, I knew a few things clearly: Jake had taken another identity to track the Calling, Ducky was supposed to see him and out him to make Hardy and Miller suspicious, he would refuse to talk but direct them to Ducky, and that Micheal would get recruited by the Calling. A lot of the rest of it came to me as I went along, and it shows, though the long, horrible backstory for Jake, that was there, just wasn't going to be as big a part of the plot as it became, and Dewhurst was meant to be a threat for a possible sequel, with this story ending with the Calling only.
> 
> That, needless to say, did not go as planned. Things changed very significantly as the story went along. I felt some appearance by Dewhurst was necessary... and then he took over the whole story, the jerk. And everything kept wanting to tie to him even though I very much did not want Jake to be the reason the Calling was in Broadchurch.
> 
> So now I come back to the idea of wrapping things up, and I tried to hit all the loose ends but leave things a bit open, and I had more for the final scene, but it wasn't an ending then, so I left it out.
> 
> And I have a bit of trivia on naming I'll share as an end note.
> 
> I'll also apologize, again, for my behavior as I was writing and posting this story.

* * *

“I'm not sure I trust him,” Bishop said, her hand holding onto her ex-husband's again. Tony figured Jake could use it, still looking pretty shaky after his visit with his psycho father. “Why do we think he'll actually go through with this plea agreement?”

“We don't,” Gibbs told her, and she nodded, almost like she was expecting that answer.

“We're still preparing the best case we can to keep that bastard where he belongs,” Miller said. “We've got more evidence from Lynna's death to get through and there may be other bodies to find. She's the best one because we have a forensic link to Dewhurst, but that doesn't mean she's the only one. He had others killed as well.”

“Right now, he thinks he won,” Hardy said, leaning against the wall, “and we want him thinking he won.”

“Because if he thinks he's won, he won't go after Jake again? Or are we thinking he won't try and destroy any of the other evidence?”

“If he has agents tasked with getting rid of it, they probably had standing orders to do it as soon as he was arrested,” Bishop said, looking to Jake, who gave her a very brief nod. He didn't seem to be doing much talking again. “So we can assume that most if not all of it is gone.”

“Yet his level of paranoia suggests that even those agents would not have access to everything that he would want destroyed,” Ducky said. “Considering that he gave Milford and Keleft evidence which would incriminate them as well as anyone else they might use it against, that is likely what most of these others would have. He does not seem to have anyone he trusts with everything.”

“Except Jake,” McGee said, and Tony almost smacked him for that one, but he ducked first. “No, think about it. He just gave Jake control of all his assets. That means he can let us search any of the properties, do forensic accounting for all the businesses. Jake can use as much of his money as he wants to hire lawyers or pay for extra tests the police might not do. He can get his own team of experts. He can even get rid of everything if that's what he wants. Well, not everything. The way the ancestral title passes is... very confusing, to say the least.”

“Which is why he needed a blood heir—a male one, in fact—to maintain his empire,” Ducky added. “A daughter would not have been able to take the title in the same way, and she could only pass the land to her son, not to any other children or her husband.”

Miller muttered something under her breath, and Hardy looked at her. She shrugged. “It's sexist. Don't expect me to pretend it isn't.”

Hardy gave her another look before facing Gibbs. “I assume you'll be leaving soon.”

Gibbs grunted. “Don't have jurisdiction without the Calling.”

“That, and we're kind of in demand back home,” Tony said. He got a few looks for it, but it was true. Gibbs' team was the best, and everyone knew it. Murders and other crimes hadn't stopped just because they went overseas.

“Technically, a lot of what I do can be done from my desk back home,” McGee told the detective. “So I don't have to stop helping, though if we have a case of our own, I won't be able to spend as much time on it as I have been. I'm not giving up—I want to make sure that we keep Jake's father in jail.”

“We all do, McGee,” Abby said. “If there is another body or another crime scene, I would love to test that evidence myself. I want to get something that really nails him, you know. One that just... bam. No excuses, no other stories, no doubts. No manipulations. He's going down. Just like that.”

“Abby—”

“I swear I will find it,” she said. “I always find something.”

“Yes, you do,” Gibbs told her, and she smiled at him. Tony had always been glad Abby was on their side, even more so when that crazy assistant of hers tried to frame him. Had it been anyone else, Tony would be in jail. Abby had saved him, and he knew it.

If there was anything to find on Dewhurst, she would do it.

“And I do believe there is another matter to discuss,” Ducky said. “While we do believe that Dewhurst's obsession would keep Jakob alive, his safety is not assured. Others may try to silence him, regardless of his father's apparent wishes and we don't know that further attempts to discredit him won't be forthcoming, even if he does as his father requested and takes the title.”

“That your way of saying you want to take him back to America?” Hardy asked, sounding a bit pissed off again. Tony figured the man was a lot like Gibbs in that it was his usual behavior, but that didn't make it right.

“And your way of saying you don't want your witness leaving the country?” Gibbs countered. Tony did think watching them work together was both hilarious and frightening.

“Aye,” Hardy said. “I don't like it. Need him here.”

“He probably would be safer in America,” McGee said. “Gibbs has his marine buddies he could call on to watch him, take him off the grid somewhere he couldn't be found, or there's the NSA and his family there. They'd have an interest in protecting him, too.”

“My case,” Hardy insisted. “Didn't do this much to lose my only bloody witness, even if he is a pain in the arse.”

“Have to stay,” Jake said. “If I... am out of reach... he will... pick someone else. That... and rules of ascension. I take the title, I have to reside... near the ancestral lands for a year... or something... like that. Don't remember... exact clause...”

“I thought you said you couldn't live at that house,” Miller began. “And no. That's not safe, either. You can't go back there.”

“Near isn't a very precise term,” Bishop said with a frown. “Does that mean the estate or just the surrounding area?”

“I would not be surprised to find someone had interpreted it to mean a great distance indeed,” Ducky observed. “As I doubt your ancestors were all willing to remain in one place given the social demands and also their role in the House of Lords. The requirement would have to allow for their travel whenever the government was in session.”

“So... at least London,” Bishop said, still doubtful. “There is an NCIS office there, but that's still not... ideal.”

“Damn bloody right it's not,” Hardy muttered, still not happy about his witness being that far out of his sight. Tony didn't figure Gibbs would like it, either, but then he was going to have to try and go back to the states knowing that.

“You asked Vance to assign us to the London office for a while, didn't you?” Tony asked, and Gibbs turned to look at him, which was answer enough.

“Don't they need you back home?” Miller asked. “Not that it wouldn't be nice to have the help—God knows who our next CS will be or when they'll be officially appointed—but can you actually do that?”

“Been given directive to keep looking for any ties to the Calling,” Gibbs answered. “Was our case, we see it through. Dewhurst denied the connection, but I'm not about to take his word for anything.”

“London is not Dorset.”

“There's enough here to keep us local for a bit. We're still waiting for Keith Moon to wake up and tell us what he knows,” Tony said. “Ducky might move on a bit. He had more he planned to show his brother.”

“Indeed, though I would not be too far if I'm needed, and I do question moving Nicholas at this juncture. I may have overestimated the stress traveling would put him under, and though I was warned and even know enough myself to have recommended against it, I did it anyway. I fear I have little time left with him either way, though my mother did make it well into her nineties. She did lack most of her faculties by then and it was somewhat of a relief when she finally passed.”

Tony remembered her vividly. He wouldn't wish that old woman on anyone. “So... now that you're rich and all, Jake... What wonderful beachfront beauty are you renting for us? Is there anything around here with a built-in jacuzzi?”

That time, he knew the smack from Gibbs was coming.

* * *

“Have something for you.”

Daisy looked up at the doorway, unable to stop her smile as she saw her father standing there. She'd been worried about him when she'd heard he was back and he still hadn't come to see her, and she knew he'd be angry she went with Chloe to the newspaper, but she was just glad he was home.

Someone else was, too, judging by the way DS was brushing up against Hardy's legs and purring. She could hear him from here, he was so loud. Goofy thing.

“Dad,” she said, going over to hug him. He smelled a little rank, probably hadn't gotten close to a shower in days, since he hadn't been home, but she ignored it for as long as she could, holding onto him until she couldn't stand it anymore. “I missed you.”

“That's my line.”

She shook her head as she stepped back. “You're the one that's never home.”

“I know, and I'm sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. She looked down, frowning, and then she picked up the first piece, a notebook with a pen. “You said you changed your focus. English. Thought you'd like that.”

She loved it. “I do. Though... I have to admit, I don't really like it as much now. They have horrible people covering Mr. Kennedy's classes. Bloody awful.”

Her father grunted. “He wasn't that good.”

“He was. Compared to them, he really was. The one who took over our lit class decided we needed to change books halfway through our current one, and I'm not sure how anyone can read this one. Not only is it painfully boring, but it's boring in dialect speech. Chloe and I have to take turns reading it out loud to have any hope of understanding what they're saying. We all failed the last quiz he gave us, and he didn't even seem to care. He told us to pay more attention next time, but what if we didn't see any allegory? We couldn't find it past the awful dialogue.”

Her father smiled. “Well, I never saw allegory in any book, so there you go.”

“What's this one for?” Daisy asked, picking up the other charm. “A magnifying glass? Are you trying to say—”

“That you're a nosy little thing that got yourself in a right bit of trouble? Aye, I am,” he said. “You know if you hadn't followed Kennedy, you'd never have been threatened by his father. You should have left that alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thank you anyway, though... I still don't have the bracelet.”

He reached into his pocket and took out an evidence bag. “Not sure I should give this to you.”

“Why not? You don't need it for your case. Kennedy didn't do anything wrong, and he was just trying to return it, right?”

“I know about your little visit to the Echo,” her father said, and she winced. “The whole bloody town is talking about terrorists.”

“I... We just went there to get Maggie to put out a story so that they would stop saying Kennedy disappeared because he killed Keith's father. That was Keith, all Keith, but everyone was blaming him and Chloe was afraid it would be Jack Marshall all over again.”

Her father grimaced. “Aye, it could have been, and we don't need anyone helping Dewhurst make people think Kennedy's insane. So I suppose you can have this back, but don't think you've heard the end of this.”

“Of course not,” Daisy said, taking the bracelet from him. “I need to put these on and... Wait. That's new, too. This heart. It's... no, it has to be mine, no way anyone else collected all of this and the beads but one charm...”

“I don't want you to have what I do,” her father told him, and she winced, needing to hug him again. “You deserve better than that.”

“I'm fine, Dad. Really.”

“I was worried. I thought... I should have been there, but this bloody case...”

“If Kennedy's father is as evil as he seemed, wouldn't he maybe have come after me and Chloe anyway since we saw him and he took Kennedy? You were keeping me safe, just... not by staying at my side. I know that's not who you are, and I am fine with that. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“You have to shower, Dad. You stink.”

He laughed, stopping to kiss her forehead. “All right.”

“And... Chloe and I would really like to see Kennedy for ourselves to know he's okay.”

Her father groaned.

* * *

“There's my boys,” Ellie said, walking into her house. She swore she could sleep for days, and she was tempted to, soon as she got a shower and a bit of food. She didn't even think she'd had a Scotch egg in the last day, and she was starved.

Her father had actually cooked, which was something of a miracle, and even if it wasn't edible, she was having some. Maybe she'd take it in a bath with her.

She picked Fred up, glad he was still at the age where he greeted her with smiles and hugs. “Lord, I've missed you.”

“Mothers should be home more,” her father said, and she glared at him.

“Don't start. I have had a rubbish week, and I have just been dealing with the kind of father that makes monster seem tame. So evil and smug... smarmy bastard, just kept on smiling as he lied about all of it and that was after we knew everything, just couldn't prove half of it.” Ellie gave Fred's head a kiss. “And Joe was no saint, either. You men... I swear sometimes I think Hardy's the only decent one among you, and that terrifies me.”

Her father grunted. “Exaggeration.”

“Oh, go on. Go to the pub, blow off steam. I'm home now, and while I'm for bed myself soon, it's about Fred's time, so I'll put him down first.” She looked over at the food. “After I eat.”

“There's plates on the table,” Tom said, and she turned to face him, beckoning him over. “Did you want water or milk?”

“A hug first, and then I'll start with water,” Ellie said, thinking she'd do wine later, after Fred was asleep, assuming she lasted that long.

“Mum—”

“Oh, you're not weaseling out of it,” Ellie told him, pulling him against her with Fred. Her boys, her family. It was broken, but it was still good. “I wanted to tell you I was proud of you. I've seen the kind of things they were using to recruit those kids into what they were doing, and I am glad you didn't listen to it. I don't know what I'd have done if I lost you.”

“Mum—”

“And I know you think I don't mean that because I haven't been home, but I swear it's been non-stop since we went to Micheal's. We had a kidnapping, multiple attempted murders, a decades old murder, and a lot more.”

“They haven't let me talk to Micheal. I don't know how he is or what's happening to him. Not since you told me Hardy talked him down and got everyone out. Is his stepdad alive?”

“Yes, he made it through surgery, and he should make a full recovery, which is good, because the charges against Micheal won't be as severe. They do still want to charge him, though he was coaxed and I think that will help his defense, but I'm not a solicitor. It's not great, but he may end up with the minimum sentence, since there were other factors involved.”

Tom grimaced. “I didn't think he'd do something like that.”

“I don't think he really wanted to,” Ellie told him. She set Fred down, letting him go to the table. He climbed up next to his plate and started banging his fork against it. “I think he panicked, going along with what he'd heard over the internet after his father pushed too far, but he couldn't kill his mother. I don't think he really wanted to hurt anyone. He just... thought he did. Sometimes, when your pain is bad, you want that. And you think you'll be better, but you're not.”

“Like you with Dad.”

She sighed. “At the time, I needed to hurt him for what he'd done and how he'd betrayed all of us, how I feared the worst about what he might have done to you or Fred after I heard. After it was done, I just sat down and cried... was a wreck... I'm not sure how I got home. I regretted it, not just because they through out the confession, but because... I didn't want to lose control like he'd done, like he did when he killed Danny. It still hurts. I wish I'd done it different, though sometimes I think... at least I did that. I made him suffer a bit. He deserved so much more... but then... he wasn't all bad... I don't know where the line is. It confuses me as much as it does you. I just... am more angry most of the time. I can hate him, and it's easier that way.”

Tom nodded. She touched his cheek.

“I meant what I said. I'm proud of you. You did the right thing, stayed away from them, told us about it, and then you went where we told you and stayed there, which is more than Chloe or Daisy did, but that's another matter.”

Tom managed a small smile.

Ellie looked at the food again. “That's not edible, is it?”

Tom shook his head. “No, but... I did order us a pizza soon as I knew you were coming home.”

“I love you,” she told him, pulling him close again.

* * *

“There are a lot of people here,” Chloe said, feeling a bit uncomfortable in the room with so many of them. She didn't know what to think. This didn't seem like the place where they'd be keeping Kennedy, but he was there, right in the middle of everyone, and he looked like he didn't know what to do with all of them, either.

“I seem to have... acquired an excess of protection,” Kennedy said. “I'd like to say... there's no way either of you... could be a threat... but that's underestimating you... and yet... complimenting you at the same time... It's that you're good people, but not incapable of... I'm going to stop now.”

Chloe smiled. He sounded a bit like he had the first day of class, and she'd liked the bumbling. It made her feel more at ease.

“It's good to see you,” Daisy said. “They told us you were fine, but hearing it is one thing. Seeing it is another.”

“Well, I'm not fine... still dealing with some damaged ribs and there's this,” he lifted his hand. “Most annoying part... well, second most... the drugs are still the worst... keep coming back at random moments... the feet.”

Chloe leaned over to look at the casts. “That has to be weird. Especially for you. You always moved when you were teaching.”

“Lynna did that,” Kennedy said, and Chloe saw the others shift, like the name meant something, and everyone was tense because he said it. “My... first tutor... she was... perfect... or so it seemed to me back then... so young... I just... she had this smile, and it was.... you wanted to make her proud of you... to show her you understood... she would go off on these tangents about wars I've never heard of or who invented what and why or myths we believe about the past, and she'd get so caught up in them... she was supposed to be a history teacher...”

“Was tutoring you better money?”

Kennedy shook his head. “Couldn't have been worth it,... working for my dad. She told me once she wouldn't do it... if not for me... I still... That... I'm sorry. I meant to say... she had a fear... of public speaking... froze up... every time she tried to... get in front of a class... I thought... it was silly... she could speak so well... to me.”

“What happened to her?”

Kennedy lowered his head. “My father.”

Daisy flinched, and Chloe winced. That was horrible.

“Oh, you got it back,” Kennedy said, pointing to the bracelet on Daisy's hand. “I'm glad. I didn't know it was your father... I met... but I did want to make sure... you had it.”

“Aye, and Dad gave me some new charms for it, too.”

Kennedy studied her. “You didn't give him... the paper... you wrote about him... did you?”

Daisy went red as her father frowned. “You wrote a paper about me?”

“Uh...”

Chloe laughed. It was a bit funny now. “It was for our communications class. Kennedy had spent the whole morning talking about how we don't even realize what we pick up from others, how their speech becomes ours as we interact with people, how things we wouldn't think of become normal. He used this example—”

“Hinky,” Daisy said, wrinkling her nose a bit as she said it. “Such a weird word.”

“But oh so fitting,” the goth at the back said. “Hinky is as hinky sounds.”

“You are so the one who got him started using it,” Chloe said, smiling at her, and she smiled back. She turned to Kennedy's ex. “And you thought it was funny when he did. Something about a big speech, he'd just embarrassed himself using the word, and all you could do all through dinner was laugh.”

The blonde nodded. “I did. He wanted to leave me in the restaurant. Poor thing. He had to explain to two foreign agencies the meaning of hinky in the middle of a complicated and classified legal thing, and he said he wanted to curl up and die on the spot.”

“Oh, Jake, it's not that bad,” the goth said. “Plenty of people use hinky.”

“It sounds even weirder from Jake with the English accent,” the ex said, and he grimaced.

“Back to this paper on Hardy,” Ellie said. “Exactly what did Daisy say about her grumpy old wanker of a dad?”

“Oi,” Hardy said, glaring at her.

“It wasn't anything bad,” Daisy said. “It was... about how sometimes I can't stop myself from using 'aye' like you do even though I don't have the same accent or use any of the other ones you sometimes do. It's just that one. I like the way you say it. That and darling.”

Hardy smiled at her, and Chloe nudged her. That deserved a hug.

It still made things a little awkward, so Chloe turned back to Kennedy. “The idiot they replaced you with changed our book for lit. Oh, and that paper we were supposed to do for communications? She told us not to turn it in.”

Kennedy frowned. “After all that work? That's ridiculous. And we were halfway... through... that monstrosity I picked... why the hell would they change that?”

Chloe shrugged. “I guess the other teachers didn't think much of your lesson plans. Half the kids are talking about changing their focus again. It's awful. Though... the book you picked wasn't. It was good. I ended up finishing it ahead of time because I got caught up reading it. I don't do that with a lot of books. Not my thing.”

“I finished it, too,” Daisy said, stepping away from her father. “Most of us had. Question—was that part where the mist happens all in her head, or was that part real? Because it got a little confusing there, and the whole ending of the book changes depending on that.”

He gave them both a slight smile. “That... is why I picked it... we were supposed to discuss... that question... after the weekend...”

“Is it real?”

“What do you think?”

“You were going to make us write a paper about that, weren't you?”

Kennedy nodded, looking tired. “I was. Looks like... you don't have to... now.”

“Oh, please. We'd give anything to have you back in class over those morons, and we're not the only ones that think so. Well, they do now that Maggie wrote that article and stuff... What happened with the terrorists, anyway?”

“I think it's time you both went home.”

“Oh, no, they can totally stay,” one of the Americans said. Chloe didn't think she'd met him. “This is actually kind of hilarious. Unless you're afraid your daughter will embarrass you again, detective.”

Hardy glared at him.

“We should probably be working, Tony,” the other man said. He was younger than the one, probably the youngest in the room if Kennedy wasn't. Chloe wasn't sure. “And Jake could probably do with the rest, right, Ducky?”

“Naturally, he does need rest, with his injuries and the attempts on his life, though I was finding those moments of teaching rather... endearing myself,” the doctor said. “I suppose it might be my own habit of relaying bits of trivia and assorted past experiences talking, but if your methods are like Lynna's, I think we have a true sense of the woman she was and just what was lost when she was.”

Kennedy put a hand on his side. “Will we... have to wait... to bury her... properly? I can't remember... Shouldn't have to wait... for trial... but more tests?”

“Not right now, Jake. I've done all I can think of on everything she was buried with,” the goth said. “We can look into the arrangements. Did... she have any family?”

“Her parents were gone. She was an only child. She... wanted to go into teaching... because she always felt... alone,” Kennedy answered. He closed his eyes. “This... does not get... any easier.”

“At least your father is in jail.”

Kennedy forced a smile that didn't last. “He is. For now.”

“Did we mention that the jerk who took over your research class is making us look up tax laws? Really old obscure ones.”

“Medieval ones,” Daisy said with a shudder. “It's bad enough those are only in books, but they're creepy old books that should be in a museum, and how does the library even have them?”

Kennedy almost laughed. “And here I thought... assigning you... a project requiring... all book sources... was bad enough... That reminds me... law professor I had... he would cite... precedents from old laws like that... he hated... that I always found... the updated... ruling... but then Boyers... hated the library... was nice to have some small freedoms...”

“What?”

“My... bodyguard when I was at university,” Kennedy explained. “He worked for my father. I knew... if I did anything... he'd report it. Except for the library... that was different. I got good... at researching... still hate it... but at the time... was a bit of peace.”

Chloe nodded. Then she frowned. “Wait. None of you actually answered us about the terrorists.”

* * *

“I thought you'd gone,”

Hardy shook his head. He'd intended to, when he ushered the girls out to the car after a much longer visit than he'd planned on, but he'd sent them with Miller instead. He wasn't done here. He didn't know that he understood all of the appeal it had for Daisy, but Kennedy had seemed to impress almost all of the others.

Gibbs hadn't said a word the entire time, leaving without one somewhere in the middle.

“I don't know why your daughter... likes my class... as much as she does,” Kennedy said. “I... don't really know... much about teaching... Know Lynna's style... and everything I would never do... that my other tutor... did.”

Hardy studied him. “That one still out there?”

“Think so. Lost track of him... two years ago... he had been... in jail... drink driving... but he... got out. Went.. quiet. Taylor said... we'd find him... never did.”

Hardy didn't like that much. “You still trust him?”

“No. Trust Gibbs, and he'd find him... if there was something... to be found,” Kennedy said. He shook his head. “I don't... they didn't stay for the Calling. It shouldn't be for me... I... made such a mess... and Lynna died because of me... I don't—”

“Don't finish that,” Hardy said. “Not going to say I like you much. I don't. You didn't kill her, and you couldn't do anything about your father being obsessed with you. You had no control over being born, and that was all it bloody took for him. You're his son, and that damned you. The fault is in him. What you did after you got free of him, that's a bit different. What you did here still angers me. It angers me more that you taking the blame lets him win again.”

“He only thinks he has,” Kennedy said. “Not that... I could never become what he is, that's not it... I just... will never, ever... have children. I am capable of it... just... won't. His line... still dies. It may be... the only victory I ever have... against him... but there is... that saying... about revenge...”

Hardy looked at him, tempted to laugh. Man had a point. In the end, they actually did win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, it was because of some Jake Malloy/Ellie Bishop stories by writingfromdarkplaces. In particular, Redeeming the Past, though there are others that deal with not accepting canon. This one... sort of does, except Jake having lied about the affair and went to England to chase the Calling. 
> 
> Really, without Jake, I didn't have a story, and I had this idea (possibly silly/crazy) to use other roles played by the same actor (Jamie Bamber, most famous for being Lee Adama) to use as his alternate identities. One of the other roles is that of Archie Kennedy on Horatio Hornblower, which gave him the main name he uses. Bamber also played Lord Tony Dewhurst in the Scarlet Pimpernel miniseries. I toyed with the idea of including others, as at one point there was supposed to be some discussion of Jake's failed attempt to work in the field with his friend Taylor that would have been other roles, but that didn't fit and I'd gotten out of hand with the story as it was.


End file.
